


Changing Priorities

by transfiguredtoad



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya doesn't arrive until chapter 17, F/M, Jon doesn't arrive until chapter 12, Major character death - Freeform, Mentions of Rape, Sansa and Dany friendship, kind of anti-Daenerys at the beginning, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-11
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:53:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 71,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21756343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transfiguredtoad/pseuds/transfiguredtoad
Summary: When Tyrion Lannister finds his wife, emaciated and broken, his priorities begin to change, away from the queen he has sworn to serve and back to the girl he swore to protect.Jaime Lannister gets word from Winterfell that they have the woman who protected him so fiercely, who believed him when he told her his deepest secret. He lets nothing stop him leaving King's Landing and finding his new priority.Daenerys Targaryen has always wanted to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. It is all she knows to be true. When her hand's wife's bastard brother arrives, her feelings swirl and suddenly she is not quite so sure of what she wants anymore.All Arya Stark wanted was to be able to fight, for herself, to create the future she wanted for herself. Not as a lady, but as a knight, a soldier. When she receives word that a bastard from Fleabottom is massing troops in King's Landing under her banner, she realises that perhaps there is something else she wants to fight for.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Daario Naharis/Daenerys Targaryen (very minor), Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Comments: 178
Kudos: 350





	1. Chapter 1

Sansa Stark was starving. A few months ago, she would use that word when she was hungry. She did not know what she knew now: that starvation can rip you apart inside, rather than just gnaw at your stomach. She was starving now. A few days ago, Theon had found some berries that they could eat for certain and they’d eaten them. Since then, the only thing that had passed her lips was potentially harmful water. But it was better than dying.

All they had to do was get to Jon.

They could freeze and starve and feel as though they were wandering and doing nothing for days on end. None of it mattered as long as they were alive when they reached Jon, who would look after them, who would keep them safe and warm and fed.

They just had to get to Jon.

Every time she remembered how cold she was or how hungry she was or how much she missed her family or how much she still ached from everything that Ramsay did to her, every time any of that crossed her mind she just had to remind herself that they just had to get to Jon. Every time Theon said anything about any of it, she just said it again: all they had to do was to get to Jon.

Theon was her everything. He kept them going when all she wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep and never wake up again. He reminded her of who they were fighting for. He told her stories from their childhood.

They slept curled up together for warmth. His nightmares woke her up just like hers did him. She heard him screaming and sobbing and apologising and she held him to her and whispered to him until he slept again. When he heard her scream, he did the same. He told her what the future would be like, how she would be the Lady of Winterfell and they would burn Ramsay at the stake and laugh while he screamed. He told pretty stories about Cersei’s death and the freedom of the North, until Sansa could see enough happy things behind her eyes to fall asleep.

The direction was difficult. Of course, they headed north, but whether they were headed to Castle Black was another matter entirely. Sansa had never made the arduous journey before, towards more and more clouds and snow and cold, further away from death and demons.

Theon stopped suddenly and looked up at the air. Sansa winced. Perhaps it was about to rain. As the sound of their footfalls faded away, Sansa heard what had made Theon stop. Horses. There were horses nearby. Theon grabbed Sansa’s arm roughly and dragged her with him. Sansa had no idea where he was taking her.

It was getting louder. The horses were getting closer. Sansa could not figure out which direction they were coming from. Had there been a road earlier? Surely they were coming from that direction. Which direction had it been?

Theon stopped dragging her and looked around. Sansa did the same. There had to be somewhere to hide. They were only two people and the horses sounded-

It was an army. Sansa froze. An army. What if it was Ramsay’s army? Sansa knew he was looking for her. She was his wife and she had run away so-

“Sansa,” Theon urged, and Sansa had no idea what he was urging her to do. What on earth could she do? Ramsay had found her. She’d finally got away, run away, and he’d found her.

Bile rose in her throat. He’d found her and he was going to drag her back to Winterfell. He was going to bend her over the bed and rape her again. Rape her until she was pregnant with his baby. Like he’d tried to do so many times. He’d rape her and cut her and beat her until she would never run away again. 

“Theon, I’m going to be sick,” Sansa cried, crouching down and then standing straight back up. Theon, what would they do to Theon? Sansa started to move. Everything was so noisy. Her breaths were coming rapidly and she could hear Theon calling her. Her legs hurt but they moved. They moved to where was safe. Where was safe?

Had she ever been safe? Tyrion. Tyrion had said he would protect her but then Littlefinger had taken her and then she supposed she’d felt safe for a while and then he’d sold her to Ramsay and then Theon- Theon-

The floor swivelled so that it was in Sansa’s face.

Or, rather, she fell, onto a road. So this was where the road was.

Shifting her aching body onto the other side, Sansa stared ahead at the procession which she had fallen in front of. Her heart was racing, her breathing not far behind. Pushing herself back onto her hands, Sansa tried to crawl backwards. Ramsay was here for her.

Sansa’s head span to the side where she heard movement from the trees. In her mind, she imagined Ramsay bursting out and putting his hands on her. Without control, Sansa turned to the side and threw up. When she looked up, wiping her mouth, she found Theon, holding a stick and moving to position himself in front of her.

“You may not hurt her!” he shouted at the army which stretched as far as the eye could see.

“We will not hurt either of you,” the voice at the head of the army said and it was a woman’s voice. A kind voice. Sansa ignored it. Ramsay’s voice had been kind once. Joffrey’s voice had been kind once. Littlefinger- “What are your names?” the woman asked and Sansa sneaked a glance at her.

She was unfathomably beautiful, with braided blonde hair and wide eyes. She sat atop her horse like she was the most important person on the planet. Maybe she was. Who knew what had changed in the time that she and Theon had been away from Winterfell?

Theon stood up straighter and held his stick out further, but did not speak. Sansa continued to crawl away on her hands. The stones cut into her hands but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She had to get away. Surely, this woman was Ramsay’s latest fling. Miranda had been a strong woman. This woman may be a warrior. Perhaps she would kill Sansa so she could marry him.

Theon was walking backwards too, Sansa saw. They would run away again, like they had after Winterfell. They’d survived that, hadn’t they? They just had to get to Jon.

“Please, let us help you.”

It was a man’s voice this time. They were trying to trick her, just like Ramsay had tried with Theon. They would pretend to want to help her and then take her back to Ramsay. Sansa shook her head vehemently. She would not go with these people.

“Stay away!” Theon cried.

There was a sound like someone getting off a horse. Sansa watched as the woman approached. She had the darkest skin Sansa had ever seen and her hair was as wild as it was beautiful. She had a kind face but Sansa continued to crawl away from her. Lots of people had kind faces. Joffrey’s face was kind once.

“Haedar,” she said in a foreign, soothing accent. Sansa didn’t know what that term meant so she ignored it.

“No,” Sansa cried out.

“Haedar, calm. You are safe now. I am Missandei and this is Queen Daenerys. She will protect you.”

Daenerys Targaryen. Sansa knew her name. Everyone knew her name. It was an easy lie to tell.

Even if it was her, what’s to say she was safe? She was the dragon queen, famed for her ruthlessness.

So, Sansa kept running, kept pushing herself away. She would get far enough and then stand and run and she and Theon would reach Jon. They just had to get to Jon.

Tears were slipping down Sansa’s cheeks. They just had to get to Jon. Was this it? All their running, all their struggling. Would it all end here?

Sobs came from Sansa’s throat. They just had to get to Jon. “Jon,” she sobbed.

“Sansa,” Theon said and she could hear how broken he was in his voice. They were two broken things. Broken by Ramsay.

What if the Boltons had made a deal with Daenerys? What if they were giving her the North so that she could take over the country? What if all they wanted was Sansa Stark back?

“I will not,” Sansa cried, covering her face. Missandei was still by her and Sansa wanted to get far away from the woman. She had come to take her, to send her back to her prison, her rapist’s home that had once been hers.

“Please,” Sansa sobbed.

“Can’t you see what you’re doing?” Theon shouted. “No! No, stay away!”

Sansa didn’t even look to see who Theon was shouting at this time. She didn’t want to know. This was the end. They wouldn’t get to Jon. They would go back to Winterfell and Ramsay would make Sansa watch while he tortured and killed Theon. He would rape her again, force her in the room that had once belonged to her brother Robb. Just like before. 

Sansa retched. Missandei finally stepped away and Sansa’s breath came out in sharp breaths of relief.

She could get away now. She could get Theon and they could run.

Someone was coming closer. It was Theon. Theon would grab her and they would run. Run away, to Jon. To safety.

It wasn’t Theon. She could hear him speaking to someone far away from her. No, no. Who was it? “No,” Sansa cried, taking her hand from her face.

Her lips parted as she saw who was approaching. Her heart wrenched.

“Oh, love,” were the first words she heard as her first husband came close to her. “What have they done to you?”

Her sobs increased tenfold as she was enveloped into the arms of Tyrion Lannister.


	2. Chapter 2

“Have you told her why we chose this way yet?”

Varys’ voice was irritating. It asked the same question it had since Varys had come to Tyrion with his latest piece of information from Westeros and Tyrion had changed the conquering plans to account for it.

“No, and nor will you,” Tyrion repeated wearily, glancing out of the window of their carriage. “We have come to conquer Westeros and there has never been a prosperous or peaceful reign in Westeros without the support of the North. It’s smart.”

“It is smart. Dragonstone would have been smart too,” Varys commented. Tyrion shot him a look. He was fed up of having this same conversation.

“What did you think would happen when you told me that my wife had been married to a sadist? Did you think I would just go on with my life, leaving her to the beatings and torture and rape he is submitting her to?” Tyrion asked, his hackles raised. Varys knew exactly why the plans had changed and he was fed up of Varys questioning his motives, when he knew very well what was going to happen the moment he had relayed the information.

“She would have done this, you know,” Varys said. Tyrion knew she would have. Well, he guessed she would have. She was the breaker of chains. But that was in Slavers’ Bay. Tyrion was not willing to take the risk that she would say no and leave Sansa to the Boltons 

“I could have asked her and she could have said no. I didn’t ask her, we’re going to save my wife and then take over Westeros from the North.”

Varys was silent for a few moments. “Are you going to carry on calling her your wife when you see her?”

Tyrion declined to answer. He would deal with his protective feelings for Sansa when he saw her again, when she was safe, in his arms preferably.

It hadn’t been difficult to get here, really. Varys had told him what he knew of Sansa and then Daenerys had been ready to go and Tyrion had made a plan. He told his queen that it was the best plan and then they were off. The trip across the narrow sea hadn’t been pleasant but there were no incidents of note. Their arrival was smooth and the trip to Winterfell was underway immediately. They wanted to catch the Boltons by surprise.

Tyrion’s only hope was that Bolton didn’t know of his care for Sansa. Tyrion himself had told Daenerys that he would not be present at the battle, just in case Ramsay Bolton decided to use Sansa as leverage. Tyrion would not see Sansa murdered because of his actions.

**XXX**

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Varys interrupted, possibly two hours later. Tyrion glared at him. Was it possible to have a bit of peace? “I have left you alone for two hours. I only wish to know what your thoughts are on your  _ wife _ .”

“My wife is none of your concern, Varys.”

Varys scoffed and Tyrion groaned. “Your wife is all of our concerns given the reason we are here, wouldn’t you say?”

“If Daenerys finds out, I don’t know what she will say,” Tyrion said haltingly. Varys gave him a look. “I know, I know I should have told her. I was afraid and now I am afraid she will accuse me of treason.” Varys scoffed again. “What?”

“I suppose she may accuse you of treason,” he weighed and Tyrion glared at him, “but I find it far more likely that she will see that it is a grand love story. She is quite a romantic, our queen.”

The idea settled in Tyrion’s stomach funnily. His and Sansa’s story was not some great romance. She was his wife and he felt a responsibility for her, of course, as any good husband should, but he was not coming to court her. He was coming to save her. Even so, Varys was probably right. Daenerys would see the romance in it all. Perhaps it would be helpful if she did.

His queen was prone to mood swings. She could very well not like the idea of her hand having so much loyalty to another, especially given that he had changed their plans because of it. It would all depend on how and when it happened.

Tyrion let out a shaky breath. He noticed the concerned look that Varys gave him. “My old friend,” he started and Tyrion rolled his eyes, “I know you are here for Sansa, but once you have found -”

“Once I have found her, I will serve my queen, Varys,” Tyrion interrupted. “I just need her to be okay. I couldn’t live with myself if she wasn’t.”

Varys nodded and Tyrion felt that the subject was finished. Rather, he hoped that it was. He didn’t need his friend prying into his feelings.

They stopped for the night soon afterwards. They were three days into their journey, with only two more to go until they reached Winterfell. Tyrion’s tent was tempting but the Queen had asked them all to her tent.

“Tell me about the Boltons,” she demanded of him and Varys. Tyrion shared a look with his friend and gestured for him to go on.

“Roose Bolton organised and participated in the murder of Robb Stark, the king in the North, and his wife and mother at the Red Wedding. For that, he was rewarded as the Warden of the North. Ramsay is his bastard son, recently legitimised by Joffrey,” Varys explained. “I believe Roose has married one of the Fray girls.”

Daenerys nodded, looking around the table at each of her loyal advisers. “And Ramsay?” Ser Jorah questioned. Varys threw a shot at Tyrion, who was determined to remain stoic. They had got this far. He was not going to risk Sansa with just a few days to go.

“Ramsay married one of the Stark girls a few months ago.”

Months. It had been months. He’d failed her for all these months. Thankfully, no one around the table knew enough about the Starks to question Varys on his lack of detail. Ser Jorah would have been the closest but Tyrion doubted he would remember the Stark children from so many years ago.

“What is the course of action for Winterfell once we have taken it?” Daenerys questioned. Tyrion hadn’t even considered the possibility. He remembered something Ned Stark had said to him once and repeated it to the members of the War Council who surrounded him.

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.”

Varys shot him a sharp look but Daenerys’ was softer. “That is what the Northerners believe?” Tyrion inclined his head. “Well, then, whoever this Stark girl is who is married to Ramsay Bolton, she shall be Wardeness of the North.”

Tyrion wondered how Sansa would feel about that. It certainly wasn’t what she would expect, perhaps not what she would want. But that was the Sansa he knew. He wondered how broken she was now, whether her spirit was intact or whether Ramsay had broken every part of her into a million pieces.

Months.

Tyrion’s heart clenched. His wife.

**XXX**

The road led them through woods the next day, frosty woods. Tyrion remembered travelling through woods the first and only time he had been to Winterfell before. It gave him hope that the long journey would soon be over along with Sansa’s sufferings.

They had been travelling for half the day when they came to a stop. Tyrion narrowed his brow at Varys. “Perhaps our queen wants to stop,” Varys suggested with a shrug. Tyrion tried to peer out of the window, but they were too far down the procession to see what was going on.

After a few moments, Tyrion huffed and announced he was going to see what was going on. He clambered out of the carriage and started the short walk towards the front of the procession, where his queen was.

When he got closer, he saw what had stopped them. A man that Tyrion easily recognised as Theon Greyjoy was holding a stick towards the procession. Tyrion glanced up at one of the second sons who shrugged at him. Tyrion hurried forward. 

Theon had changed, Tyrion could see that. He was jittery and on edge, but he was holding his stick out like a sword. Tyrion glanced around and saw his queen’s face. She looked horrified. Tyrion followed her line of sight and saw who Theon was protecting with his stick. Missandei was crouched down, trying to talk to another figure on the floor.

It was his wife.

_ Sansa _ .

“I will not!” she cried out and Tyrion’s heart broke. What on earth had been done to her? Why was she out here in the middle of nowhere, with Theon Greyjoy, the man who had betrayed her family? Sansa covered her face but Tyrion could hear her sobs even if he couldn’t see the evidence plainly.

“Please,” she sobbed. Missandei noticed him at this point, and then Theon did.

“Can’t you see what you’re doing to her?” Theon shouted. Tyrion could see what they were doing. Sansa was desperately trying to crawl away from them. She didn’t know who they were, didn’t know that they weren’t going to do her harm. Tyrion thought he might be the only one able to convince her otherwise. He started to approach her. “No, no, stay away!” Theon screamed.

Tyrion ignored him and continued to walk towards Sansa. She retched and Tyrion noticed that she had already vomited. What had they done to her? Missandei stepped away as Tyrion got close. Sansa started breathing rapidly again.

“No,” she cried, finally taking her hand from her face. Tyrion saw her eyes change when she saw him. She was deathly afraid and then she was just wary. She knew he was not a threat, but she did not know those around him.

“Oh, love,” he whispered. “What have they done to you?”

She started crying even harder as he took her into his arms and held her.

**XXX**


	3. Chapter 3

“Lord Tyrion,” his queen called from her horse. Tyrion had barely had a sobbing Sansa in his arms for a minute. Her sobs had not slowed. Tyrion wanted to shout at his queen, tell her that his job as Sansa’s husband was more important than his as her hand. He did not.

“Your Grace,” he said from his place on the floor. He glanced over at the queen and saw the looks he was receiving from Ser Jorah and Daario as well as Daenerys. He noticed that Theon seemed to not know what to do with himself. 

Tyrion stood up and offered Sansa his hand. She took it. Tyrion made eye contact with her and nodded supportively. He pulled her up and she stood beside him, slightly behind him in fact. If he were a taller man, Tyrion would have thought that his wife may have been hiding behind him.

“Your Grace, may I present Lady Sansa Stark, daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark,” Tyrion announced. He did not mention her marital status, either to him or to Bolton. Tyrion squeezed Sansa’s hand, becoming aware of the stones that had implanted themselves into her skin during her desperate crawling. He could feel her shaking against him, could hear the dry sobs still emerging from her throat. Anger rose in Tyrion’s throat as he watched Daenerys coolly examine Sansa.

“Wife of Ramsay Bolton, I presume?” she said. Sansa convulsed behind him, dropping back to the ground, and her sobs began anew. Theon was next to them within seconds, his arms around Sansa as she cried.

“Tyrion,” Sansa whimpered, making Tyrion turn from his queen and towards his wife. He stroked the side of her face and winced as she flinched.

“You’re safe now, Sansa, I promise,” he told her softly. Sansa shook her head.

“Don’t let her take me back to him,” she pleaded.

“Never,” he swore, turning her chin so that her eyes met his. “You’re with us now.”

“That has yet to be determined, Lord Tyrion,” Daenerys said from her horse. Tyrion closed his eyes for a moment and turned back to her.

“Your Grace, my- Sansa is- she needs our protection.” Tyrion was ready to get on his knees and plead for Sansa, for his wife. Sansa’s hands were grasping Tyrion’s wrist.

“Please,” she was weeping.

“Your Grace,” Tyrion begged. “Please, allow me to take Lady Sansa to the carriage. She needs rest.”

“You wish for me to take the wife of our enemy into our procession?” Daenerys’ eyebrow was arched as she spoke. Sansa was pleading behind him, each sob that came from her throat penetrating Tyrion’s heart.

“Your Grace,  _ please _ , I vouch for Lady Sansa. She was forced into marriage with the son of the man who killed her brother and mother.”

“Tyrion.” The sound from Sansa’s throat was not human and Tyrion felt tears spring to his eyes.

“Please, my queen, the Lady Sansa needs our protection.” His voice was purposeful, vehement. If Daenerys did not take this broken girl into her protection, Tyrion was not sure she was a queen to follow. He certainly knew that Varys would think so.

“You may take her to your carriage, Lord Tyrion, and I will speak with you both this evening when we stop.”

Tyrion exhaled in relief. “Come, Sansa, there are blankets in my carriage. Theon, you may accompany us,” Tyrion said, with a nod to his queen. Both of Sansa’s hands remained around Tyrion’s wrist as he led her to their carriage, Theon trooping along behind them.

Varys was surprised by the appearance of Sansa and Theon, that much was evident. He moved up to allow Theon a seat beside him. Sansa sat beside Tyrion. “I’ve got you now, Sansa,” he promised, keeping tight hold of her hand. She continued to sob nonetheless. Theon looked at her desperately and Tyrion gave him a grim look. “Rest, now, Sansa. You’re safe.”

She remained sat up but clenched Tyrion’s hand tightly.

**XXX**

“You owe me an explanation,” Daenerys demanded, walking into Tyrion’s tent that evening. Tyrion shushed her almost immediately and she looked affronted. Tyrion pointed at Sansa, who had fallen into a fitful sleep on his bed. Theon was lying next to her, but Tyrion was unsure as to whether he was asleep or not. Daenerys’ face softened slightly. “Who is she?”

“Sansa Stark of Winterfell,” Tyrion replied, slightly bemused. He had already given her this information. Daenerys tutted.

“I know that. Who is she to you? How do you know her? Why are you so sure she is on our side?” 

Tyrion swallowed. “Sansa was my wife.” Daenerys’ blink was the only sign of surprise. “When we were both in King’s Landing, after her father had been executed, my father decided that he wanted the North and the only person left to give it to him was Sansa. My brother Jaime was a Kingsguard and, thus, supposedly celibate, so I was the only other option. She was fourteen. The marriage was unconsummated.

“She left the day of Joffrey’s wedding. Littlefinger stole her away and apparently sold her to the Boltons. I escaped King’s Landing and came to you.”

Daenerys glanced over at the girl sleeping less-than-soundly on the bed. “Why are you so protective of her?”

“She was my wife.”

Daenerys scoffed. “She was not your wife, Tyrion. Your marriage was short and unconsummated. She is the Bolton boy’s wife.” Tyrion’s face hardened.

“You will not send her back?”

“I will not.” Tyrion sighed. “Why are you-”

“She is an innocent. She watched her father be murdered, she was tormented by my sister and my nephew and then forced to marry me. Littlefinger sold her to the men who butchered her family. Yes, I am protective of such a girl.” Tyrion didn’t care if he sounded defensive. Why should he have to defend his actions? He did not question Daenerys freeing slaves. It was the same feeling that drove his protectiveness of Sansa.

“The man?” Daenerys questioned. Tyrion glanced at Theon Greyjoy, who did not move, although Tyrion was fairly certain he was awake.

“Theon Greyjoy, son of Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands. He was a ward of the Starks all his life then betrayed Robb Stark. I do not know how they have ended up together,” Tyrion told her honestly. And it was true. Theon Greyjoy had disappeared from the map when he had been driven from Winterfell. Honestly, Tyrion had not given him a thought in years. Perhaps he had remained at Winterfell the whole time under the Boltons. Vaguely, Tyrion wondered what they had done to him. Less vaguely, he wondered what they had done to Sansa.

“Sansa will not betray us?” Daenerys asked. Tyrion shook his head. “She’d better not.”

With that, Tyrion’s queen stalked back out of his tent. With another sigh, Tyrion picked up the jug of wine and poured himself a glass.

“You will protect her,” he heard from the bed. Theon. His voice was odd, jittery.

“I will,” Tyrion said with a weary sigh, collapsing against the side of the bed. He could hear Sansa’s ragged breathing from above him.

“I will wait until she wakes, but I will leave,” Theon informed him. Tyrion looked up, startled.

“You would abandon her?”

Theon shook his head. “Not if she doesn't want me to, but my sister-”

Tyrion nodded. Family loyalties. “I understand. She will too,” he said, inclining his head at Sansa.

Theon paused and Tyrion looked up again, causing the younger man to speak. “You have to choose her. Every time, choose her.” Tyrion blinked. “She- I can’t explain what she has been through, Lord Tyrion. Just, please, choose her.”

“I will,” Tyrion said quietly. “I will choose her over everyone, over myself.”

“Over your queen,” Theon insisted and Tyrion nodded once.

“What did they do to her?” Tyrion asked. Theon hesitated and then shook his head.

“She should tell you herself.”

**XXX**

“Did you think you could get away from me that easily?”

No, no. “No!”

Ramsay’s face was as cruel as it had always been. “Did you think he could save you?”

Tyrion’s broken body lay in front of her. Sansa fell to her knees. “No,” she whimpered. It was her fault, all her fault. “Tyrion.”

“You thought this dwarf, this stupid little man could save you? Oh Sansa, you’re such a stupid little girl,” he told her, chuckling. Sansa began to sob. He put his hands on her then, on her upper arms, on her thighs. He spread her legs.

“SANSA!”

The voice jolted her from her dream. It was Theon and Tyrion; they were both looking over her with concern. She threw her head back and tried to get her breathing, and heart rate, under control. She was free. She was safe. She was with Tyrion. Her first husband. Her second husband was not with her.

“It’s okay, Sansa,” Tyrion said, stroking her hand. Sansa flinched involuntarily, crossing her arms across her chest. Tyrion slipped off the bed and stepped away from her. Sansa glanced at him and then away.

“Where are we?” Sansa asked. She’d been asleep since she had leaned on Tyrion in the carriage and they were certainly not in the carriage anymore. She wondered how long she had slept for.

“This is my tent,” Tyrion said. “We’ve stopped for tonight but I assume we’ll be back on the road tomorrow.” He paused and Sansa’s eyes flicked up to him. “To Winterfell.”

Sansa’s heart constricted. “Winterfell,” she repeated. Tyrion nodded.

“I’ll talk to the queen and we’ll decide what you should do-”

“I’ll stay with you,” Sansa blurted, sitting straight up suddenly. Tyrion smiled at her and stepped back to the side of the bed, taking her hand in his. Sansa twitched but resisted the urge to push him away from her.

“Of course you will,” he assured her and Sansa felt assured. He wouldn’t leave her. “I should have said, we’ll decide what we will do.” Sansa mustered up a smile for him and he squeezed her hand before pulling away.

“Your queen will allow you to not be at her side?” Sansa questioned. Daenerys Targaryen did not seem like the sort of woman who would allow the man who was supposed to be her hand to stand at the side of another woman. Sansa watched Tyrion’s face twitch and she knew that he wasn’t sure. Sansa glanced at her lap and bit her lip.

“What time is it?” Theon asked from next to her. Tyrion glanced outside.

“Probably three hours until sun up.”

Sansa really had slept for a long time. That was probably the most sleep she’d had since before Littlefinger had left her at Winterfell. “I’m going to leave, Sansa,” Theon told her then and Sansa’s eyes snapped to him, away from the night sky.

“What? You can’t,” she spluttered. Theon’s face was grim and Sansa felt her stomach drop out from under her. Theon was going to leave her. She would be alone. Ramsay would come for her and Theon wouldn’t be able to save her this time.

“My sister needs me, Sansa. I have to go and help her.”

Sansa understood that. More than anything, she wanted to help her siblings. Family was everything. “What if I never see you again?” Sansa asked, her throat burning with each word. Theon shook his head.

“I promise I will come back to you one day, Sansa,” he said and Sansa wanted to believe him. But she had thought she would see her mother again, that she would see Robb again. Sansa shook her head.

“Don’t promise me that.”

Theon brushed his hand across her cheek, wiping away a tear. “I won’t promise that then, Sansa, but I will promise this: as soon as my sister is safely Queen of the Iron Islands, I will do my very best to come back to you, to serve you or to see you, whatever you may need or want.”

Sansa smiled, though tears continued to slip down her cheeks. She nodded then and watched his face relax in relief. She opened her arms and allowed him to hug her. “When will you leave?” Sansa asked into his shoulder.

“Now,” he said and Sansa nodded again. Better to get it over with.

He pulled away after a few moments and Sansa looked at him with a smile, reaching down to squeeze his hands.

“You’re a good man, Theon Greyjoy,” she said honestly. His smile was a line but there nonetheless. He squeezed her hands back, bringing them to his mouth to leave a kiss there.

When he was gone, Sansa cried, but not until she had waved him off on a horse with love in her heart. Tyrion held her until her sobs slowed. 

Then she told him to sleep. She didn’t think she could sleep for a moment more, but she would rest next to him. Theon might have saved her once but it would be Tyrion who would protect her. And, she thought as she watched him fall to sleep, she wouldn’t give the responsibility to anybody else.

**XXX**

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

“Lady Stark, it is good to meet you.”

Daenerys Targaryen was not an easy woman to meet, especially when she had no reason to like Sansa - and every reason to hate her.

Sansa kept her eyes trained to the ground. Tyrion stood between Sansa and the dragon queen, also facing his queen. Sansa wished he was standing next to her. “It is a pleasure to meet you too, your grace,” Sansa replied demurely. She had heard the horror stories of the dragon queen’s wrath and she had seen the dragons circling above. Privately, she had wondered if they could see them at Winterfell.

“Your father was a main participant in Robert’s Rebellion, correct?” Sansa nodded. “Your family betrayed my family, long before either of us were old enough to understand what that meant.” Again, Sansa nodded. “My hand has argued strongly that I should allow you to stay and travel with us and, when we have won Winterfell, to have you be its lady. What do you think to that?”

Sansa glanced at Tyrion, who did not look at her. “My father said that there should always be a Stark in Winterfell.”

Daenerys looked amused. Sansa did not find it amusing. “Lord Tyrion said the same.” Sansa closed her eyes. Perhaps that meant that Daenerys would agree. “You understand that I cannot fully trust you, my lady. Your husband is the Lord of Winterfell and I cannot guarantee that you are not his spy.”

Sansa flinched and her lip wobbled but she stood straight and met the queen’s eye. “Your grace, I agree that one should never trust the wife of one’s enemy. If Lord Tyrion were your enemy and I was standing here having remained his wife, you would not be able to trust me as far as you could throw me, because Lord Tyrion was a good husband to me. He was kind and gentle and everything my father ever wanted my husband to be. He took me under his protection and was true to me.

“I left Lord Tyrion to save myself, your grace, and I am no longer his wife because of it. I am the wife of Ramsay Bolton, who did not protect me. He was not kind and he most certainly was not gentle. He raped me.” Sansa’s voice broke but she carried on, “every night of our marriage, he raped me. He beat me and cut me and made sure nobody but Theon could see. He kept other women. He tortured and killed anyone who tried to help me.

“Your grace, Ramsay Bolton may be my husband by law, but by nothing else. I have no loyalty to him, no love for him. If you delivered his head to me on a platter, I would cry in nothing but relief.”

Daenerys’ face was softened by Sansa’s speech. Sansa saw an understanding there that she had not expected, and a pity. Sansa did not want pity. She wanted to be allowed to stay and be protected by Lord Tyrion. She did not need pity, she needed protection.

“You would support my claim to the throne?” Daenerys asked. It was a shrewd question. It was all well and good Sansa being happy for Daenerys to take Winterfell - but Westeros? That was another matter. Sansa had an answer, though. She did not know Daenerys. For all she knew, she was another Cersei. But, if Tyrion trusted her, that was enough for now.

“I trust Lord Tyrion with my life. If he supports your claim, so do I.”

Tyrion had not looked at Sansa once, not during her speech, not during her proclamation of trust. Sansa worried that she was embarrassing him, that she was disappointing him. She steeled herself. If Tyrion didn’t want her, if she was a disappointment, she would escape and leave again.

The thought filled Sansa with dread, but she swallowed it.

“Then, Lady Sansa, you may stay,” Daenerys proclaimed. Sansa heard Tyrion sigh with relief and she smiled. Perhaps her plans to run away could be put on hold. Maybe he wanted her here after all. “I warn you, though, my lady, that betraying me will cost you your life.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Sansa returned.

**XXX**

They were on the road within the hour, Sansa sat in the carriage next to Tyrion. She was silent. Tyrion kept glancing at her but she was ignoring him. They were approaching Winterfell. One more day of travel and then they would be spending their last night camping before the attack. Sansa was afraid of asking Tyrion whether he had spoken to the queen about where Sansa would be during the battle.

All Sansa really cared about was having a horse. She was a good enough rider that, given a signal of losing, she could ride away and get to the wall, to Jon, before Ramsay’s men found her and took her back to him. At least Theon had got away.

Sansa missed Theon. For the entirety of her marriage to Ramsay, he had been with her, whether he was on her side or not. He had killed a girl to help them escape. He had looked after her when they were on the run. It was odd that he was not with her now, but Sansa was not alone.

Seeing her first husband on the road through the forest had been disconcerting and yet so welcome, so comforting. His hands on her were the first since before her marriage that she had welcomed. As he took her into his carriage, she felt safe.

She glanced out of the carriage. They were going to Winterfell, back where she had run away from barely a month ago. The thought made her want to jump out of the carriage and run away again. She laid her hand on her stomach and tried to calm herself. Tyrion’s hand on her arm made her flinch, but he didn’t move it. She glanced down at it and then up at him.

His eyes were honest, like they had always been. She never felt like she was being manipulated when she was around him. “Sansa,” he started and she shook her head. There were no words necessary. What was she thinking? Tyrion would always look after her. Maybe she just needed a reminder every so often.

“Thank you,” Sansa said then, taking his hand into hers. He glanced down at their hands together and Sansa smiled at him as widely as she could. It faded quickly, Sansa being conscious of Varys watching them. She’d never trusted him as easily as Tyrion.

They stopped for lunch eventually and Tyrion left Sansa with Varys in the carriage, informing her that he was going to speak with the queen about Winterfell. Sansa was not happy to see him leave.

“Lady Sansa,” Varys started. Sansa clenched her hands together beneath her sleeves. Varys was not her family, nor was he Theon or Tyrion. So, Sansa did not want to speak with him. “I just wanted to say, my lady, that Lord Tyrion would give up Daenerys for you.”

Sansa didn’t know what to do with that information. It didn’t shock her because she was fairly certain it wasn’t true. She knew that Varys was a manipulative person and she was not going to allow him to manipulate her. She had had enough of that.

“My lord Varys,” Sansa began but he cut her off, making Sansa jerk backwards slightly.

“I beg you not to force him to abandon her.” Sansa furrowed her brow. She did not have any opinion on Daenerys except her trust that Tyrion had made the wise choice. “She-”

“Lord Varys, I have no influence over Lord Tyrion’s actions,” Sansa said coldly. Sansa did not know what to do with Varys’ raised eyebrows.

“Lady Sansa, you must know that all Lord Tyrion has desired his entire life is love. You must realise that if he thought he had the chance of-”

“He doesn’t.”

Sansa looked away then, effectively finishing the conversation.

**XXX**

“You wish to be away from Winterfell?”

Daenerys’ voice was slightly louder than it probably should have been, which suggested to Tyrion that she was angry. He winced. The last thing he wanted to do was anger her.

“Your grace, Sansa-”

“Are you in love with her?” Daenerys demanded. Tyrion stepped back as if struck. He was not in love with Sansa. He had given his queen his reasons for being protective of her. Why did that have to mean that he was in love with her? “A few days ago, there was nothing that would have kept you from my side on our attack of Winterfell.”

“Sansa-”

“Sansa, Sansa, Sansa,” Daenerys snapped. “I am sorry for what she went through, but you are my hand. If you are not by my side, then what is your use?”

Tyrion sighed. “I will be by your side in every other negotiation, in every other situation, but Sansa needs me. She is a broken woman, broken by the people who we are going to depose. If we fail, which I do not believe we will, but if we do, then she needs to be far enough away to flee because if they find her-”

“What do you think they’d do if they found me?”

Tyrion closed his eyes. He knew that what they would do would be similar, but it would end in death for his queen. For Sansa, it would be her lifetime, until she had given him lots of sons and daughters for her to watch him torture.

“Very well,” Daenerys said but Tyrion sensed her fury. “This one time, you may stay away with your lady wife. If this is a problem again, Lord Tyrion, that badge will no longer be yours.”

Tyrion sighed and left as Daenerys dismissed him. 

**XXX**

“Tyrion, there is more than enough room for both of us,” Sansa said, looking at her first husband from her reclined position on the bed. There was not a chaise in this bedroom where he could sleep as he had done throughout their marriage.

“Sansa, I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

Sansa thought that it should have made her uncomfortable, but it didn’t. She was happy to have him sleep next to her. He would never hurt her, would protect her with everything he had. “Tyrion,” she said, biting her lip. “This is your bed, your tent. It is you who should be-”

“Sansa,” he interrupted and she glared at him. “I only want to say that-”

“That I have had a hard time of it and that I deserve a bed?” Sansa finished and Tyrion looked down. Sansa guessed that she had estimated his words correctly. “Well, if I’ve had a hard time of it, then I should get whatever I want. And I want you to sleep in the bed next to me instead of on the floor. You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m trying to-”

“You’re trying to protect me by staying away from me,” Sansa interrupted him and he looked affronted. “Tyrion, you are protecting me by keeping me with you. You make me feel safe. Sleep in the bed with me.”

Tyrion inhaled. “I do not wish for you to wake up and think that you are back there.”

At the thought, a smile played about Sansa’s lips. “Tyrion, if there were ever an advantage to your size, it would be this. I will not mistake you for my second husband.” Tyrion snorted and she had finally won the argument.

“The second you are uncomfortable,” he started and Sansa shook her head. He could never make her feel uncomfortable. “I spoke with the queen,” he told her once he had swung himself up onto the bed. Sansa turned to him. “She was not happy but she will allow us to remain here tomorrow, until the battle is won.”

Sansa’s lips parted. She knew that he was going to ask Queen Daenerys for her permission to have them be far away but Sansa had never considered that she would allow them. Her hand should be at her side at all times. “How unhappy was she?” Sansa asked carefully.

Tyrion faltered and Sansa felt guilt bloom in her stomach. She had forced her way into his life and tent and now she was- “Sansa, it is not your fault.” Sansa turned worried eyes to him. He knew her too well. “She told me that if it were ever a problem again, I would not be her hand any longer.”

Horror gripped Sansa. This was all her fault. She should never have stayed with him. She should have gone on to find Jon. “No, Sansa,” he said, caution in his voice. “You are- were my wife and I vowed to protect you. I have not for years but I am here now and you are my priority now.”

Sansa closed her eyes to stem the flow of tears she was feeling. How could a person be so good? Especially when that person was a Lannister. “You are so good,” she whispered, the words catching in her throat. She reached across to take his hand and squeeze it. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

Tyrion closed his eyes and Sansa was worried that he was fed up of all her emotion. “Sansa, everytime I close my eyes, I see you being raped. I see a faceless, featureless man beating you and hurting you and it reminds me of all you have suffered and all I was supposed to protect you from.”

Sansa interrupted him, allowing tears to fall down her cheeks, “Tyrion, you couldn’t have known. It is not your fault. Littlefinger sold me to the Boltons-”

“And he will pay, Sansa, I swear it.”

“I don’t need you to swear anything to me,” Sansa said, squeezing his hand. “All I need is to be here, with you. I feel safe here, with you.” Tyrion closed his eyes again and lifted her hand to his mouth, where he bestowed a kiss.

“For the rest of my life, your safety is my priority,” he told her, looking deep into her eyes. Sansa believed him with all of her heart. She was safe.


	5. Chapter 5

“Lady Sansa, how are you feeling?”

It was the first interaction that Sansa had with Ser Jorah Mormont, but she had to expect it when she took a seat next to him around the fire as they ate breakfast that morning. Tyrion was sat on her other side, discussing something or other with the queen and glancing over at her often to check on her.

“I’m feeling well, thank you, Ser Jorah,” Sansa said with a gracious smile. “I am glad to be with Lord Tyrion.”

“Your husband is caring for you?” Jorah asked and the man on Jorah’s other side, Daario Naharis, cleared his throat. Sansa furrowed her brow. “Oh, I apologise, my lady, he is no longer your husband.” Sansa had not even noticed Jorah’s slip. She shook her head to clear her sudden insecure thoughts.

“Lord Tyrion is caring for me,” Sansa said, nodding. Daario cleared his throat again and Sansa turned to him. She felt anger build up in the back of her mind. He was mocking her. Being mocked reminded Sansa of being back with Cersei and Joffrey. But Tyrion was looking out for her and she wouldn’t cause a scene and embarrass him in front of his queen and her advisors. So, she swallowed her bitterness and let the conversation continue.

Sansa just allowed Daario and Jorah to speak for most of it. She didn’t feel comfortable around them so she struggled to be able to speak around them. At one point Jorah alluded to Daario’s relationship with the queen. Sansa’s eyebrows flew up. She had assumed that the queen was unattached. Clearly, it was a sore point for Jorah. Quickly, Sansa realised that there was competition between the two men.

“So, Sansa,” Daario said, and his tongue seemed to roll and make all of the letters of Sansa’s name vibrate, “are you keeping your lord’s bed warm?” Sansa’s lip curled and she felt Tyrion stiffen next to her, clearly having heard it. She didn’t want him to cause a scene, to embarrass them both, so she reached under the table and grabbed his hand. Mouth half-open already, Tyrion glanced down at her hand encapsulating his and then up at her pleading face. He nodded and turned away, not releasing her hand.

“I don’t find that appropriate breakfast conversation, do you, Ser Jorah?” Sansa said, using the older man’s discomfort to help her out.

“Hardly, my lady,” he said, bowing his head to her. “You know, I met your father once.”

And the conversation carried on stiltedly from there, Sansa and Tyrion not relinquishing the hold on each other’s hands until the breakfast trays were carried away and Daenerys announced that they would leave within the hour.

Sansa and Tyrion retired to their tent, which would remain along with the few women and older men who accompanied them from Essos, including Missandei. Tyrion pulled a book from his chest and sat himself on the bed, feet stretched out and ready to engross himself in a book. Sansa sat on the side of the bed and glanced at him. She scoffed and he looked up at her.

“What?” he said. “Are you okay?” His immediate concern was touching but Sansa ignored her stupid emotions.

“Do you have another book?” she questioned. “Only, I don’t want to sit around doing nothing all day.” He smiled and gestured towards his chest. Sansa stood and approached it curiously.

“My lady, a good book is worth a thousand outfits.” Indeed, Tyrion’s chest was practically full of books. Sansa grinned. She had not read since she had been at the Vale with Littlefinger. She had loved to read.

“What would you suggest, my lord?” she asked as she knelt down by the chest and tucked her unbraided hair behind her ears. There were thin and thick books in there, all with hard backs. Sansa ran her finger along their spines. Tyrion directed her to a middle-sized book, which she found to be about a queen, the wife of a rubbish king, Tyrion explained.

“Come, let’s have a day reading together,” Tyrion said, patting the space on the bed beside him. Sansa joined him, grinning and clutching the book to his chest. How far she had come.

**XXX**

Tyrion and Sansa had been sat reading for hours. Tyrion’s book was engrossing, but watching Sansa love a book was even more so. Every page or so, Tyrion would look up to find Sansa so in love with the pages she was reading that he would stare at her for several moments without her noticing. He was glad she hadn’t noticed. He did not want to make her uncomfortable after all she had suffered.

“Sansa,” Tyrion said after a moment of lingering on her face.

“Hmm?” she replied, not taking her eyes from the book. Tyrion smiled.

“If the Queen returns a victor,” he started carefully, “do you think that you will be able to return to Winterfell?”

Sansa let her book fall to her lap and she glanced at Tyrion then away. Tyrion was worried that he had upset her. “I’m nervous,” Sansa admitted and Tyrion’s lips stretched slightly. It was good that she could tell him these things, that she felt comfortable enough to do so. “I’m nervous but I spent many happy years at Winterfell before- before more recent events.” Tyrion nodded. “I- I don’t think I could use the same chamber, though,” she said and Tyrion reached over to squeeze her hand.

“I promise you that you will have a different chamber, Sansa,” he said. Sansa bit her bottom lip.

“It was the chamber I had as a girl.”

Sansa’s statement made Tyrion close his eyes in pain. He should have come sooner, should have had someone watching over her. 

“I was just grateful it wasn’t my parents’ room.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t.”

They were silent for a few moments, although neither picked up their book again.

“Will…” Sansa started speaking but trailed off. Tyrion turned his head back to her, furrowing his eyebrows. She bit her lip. Tyrion tried not to stare. “Will we have separate chambers, my lord?”

Tyrion hated when she called him my lord. It reminded him of their farce of a marriage, of the torture she experienced under Joffrey and Cersei. He tried to smile at her. “Of course,” he told her, squeezing her hand.

Sansa half-smiled and Tyrion wondered what she was thinking about. “I shall miss your company,” was all she said. Tyrion smiled. He would miss hers.

**XXX**

The battle at Winterfell waged for ours with no news. Tyrion’s book had distracted her for a few hours and then they had eaten lunch together, Tyrion telling Sansa about his awful journey to finding Daenerys. Sansa had laughed at all the right parts. Tyrion was a very good storyteller. Then, Sansa had opened her book again but had not been able to concentrate.

There were so many things up in the air. Daenerys said that she would be Lady of Winterfell, but what about when they found Bran and Rickon? Would Sansa be just a sister again? A sister of a powerful lord, ready to be married off. Oh, Bran would not order Sansa to marry anyone. She was sure of that, but Queen Daenerys? She had the power to do what she liked.

“Sansa,” Tyrion interrupted her thoughts from next to her, laying his own book on his legs. “You’re thinking so loudly I can almost hear you.” One side of Sansa’s mouth quirked upwards. “Are you thinking about Ramsay? I  _ will _ protect you,” he promised and Sansa smiled.

“I know,” she assured him, reaching over and taking his hand. “I know that if the battle were going badly, we would know and we would leave and be well on our way to the wall by now. I am not fearful of Daenerys losing. I know that when I return to Winterfell this evening, Ramsay will be dead.” Tyrion nodded emphatically, squeezing her hand. “I am fearful of what will happen after.”

“What do you mean, Sansa?”

Sansa bit her lip. “Queen Daenerys says I will be Lady of Winterfell, which makes me a powerful ally, yes, but I am still her subject and, as such, she could marry me off without a second thought.”

Tyrion closed his eyes. Sansa sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. “Sansa,” he said, eyes still closed, “if she even thinks of doing that, I won’t let her.”

Sansa shook her head. “You are her hand. You don’t have that much say.”

Tyrion opened his eyes then and looked at her. “Sansa, if she even thinks of marrying you to anybody, I will marry you myself and you will be safe forever.”

The thought was odd in Sansa’s stomach. It was a comfort, without a doubt. The second Tyrion heard of plans to marry her off, he would marry her himself. That was safe, that was secure. But she would always be single, really, if she married Tyrion. He wanted a sham marriage again, to protect her. She would never have babies, never have love. 

Sansa’s heart yearned for all of it and she closed her eyes to subdue her tears. Was it too much to expect that somebody would love her someday? One day, would she not find someone who would love her and protect her? Sansa decided, then, that she would learn to protect herself. One day, she would find someone who would love her and she wouldn’t need protection, because she would do it herself, as the Lady of Winterfell, or as the sister of the Lady of Winterfell. Either way, she would do it. She was Sansa Stark of Winterfell and she could protect herself.

**XXX**

Missandei joined them for dinner, along with Varys. The four of them sat around the table in Varys’ tent and shared wine and food. Sansa sat on the side of the table where she was opposite Varys and between Missandei and Tyrion. They had received a messenger about an hour prior to inform them that the battle was going well, although it had not been to start with.

“What time do you think it will all be over?” Varys asked them idly over the food.

“Hopefully soon,” Missandei said. Sansa glanced at Tyrion. He had shared Missandei’s situation with her before they had gathered for dinner. Her partner was the leader of the Unsullied and, as such, was in terrible danger today. “I wish she would send a messenger to tell us what is happening.” Sansa nodded.

“I could go and find out,” Tyrion suggested offhandedly. Fear spiked in Sansa’s stomach and she grabbed his hand next to her. He looked down at their joined hands in shock.

“No,” she told him. You may not go. You may not leave me here so that Ramsay can come and find me. You may not allow me to be on my own. Tyrion’s face softened as he searched her face.

“I will not leave you,” he told her, bringing their joined hands to his lips. Peace settled in Sansa’s stomach as silence sat happily across the table. The dinner was nothing special. In fact, it tasted like ash in Sansa’s mouth, although she was sure that was more to do with the uncertainty of the situation.

It was after dinner had been cleared away that a messenger arrived. He spoke with Tyrion outside the tent and Sansa didn’t hear all of it. Tyrion didn’t come back in as he promised he would, leaving Sansa alone in the tent with her thoughts. Surely, the battle wasn’t over yet. They would have to clear all of Winterfell, from the traps that her evil husband would have left. They would have to execute Ramsay and all of his men. No, they were not expecting news, true good news, until at least midnight.

Sansa lifted her hand and quietly observed its shaking. Steeling her mind, she tried to force her hand to still. When she succeeded, she exhaled and lay back against the pillows on Tyrion’s bed. She didn’t have to be afraid anymore. Ramsay was going to die. Daenerys was going to kill him and Sansa would return to Winterfell, to where she had last been happy. She would find Arya and call Jon from the Wall and they would be a family, the remnants of what had once been a dynasty. She would honour her brothers with statues in the crypts and plant the flowers that her mother had loved all across Winterfell and the North.

When Tyrion returned moments later, it was to a Sansa at peace with the idea of her future. He smiled at her and she smiled back at him, a true smile, because her future was going to be well. “Lady Sansa, I have somebody I would like you to meet.” Sansa felt her brow furrow and Tyrion gave her an indulgent smile. “Jaime,” he called.

And in strode the Kingslayer, one-handed and unsmiling. Sansa felt her peace slip away and anger invade. She felt her lip curl towards her nose and her body recoil. “Now, Sansa, I-”

“I’ve met the Kingslayer before, my Lord,” Sansa said stiffly. She watched Tyrion flinch at her coldness and felt a twinge of regret. It was not enough to forget that this man had attacked and injured her father in the street. “I will allow you the space to reunite.” Sansa rose and bobbed her head to Tyrion. “Missandei mentioned-”

“Sansa,” Tyrion interrupted and Sansa shot him a glare that she hoped was as ferocious as a wolf. He quirked an eyebrow at her and Sansa shrank back, sitting back down on the bed. If he didn’t want her to leave, she wouldn’t, but she wasn’t going to greet Tyrion’s murderous, incestuous brother with open arms. Tyrion gave her a smile and Sansa returned a scowl. “Why are you here, Jaime?” Tyrion asked. Sansa studied her nails, although she was curious. She glanced up and watched Tyrion and Jaime take a seat each at Tyrion’s small table.

Jaime Lannister had grown a beard and he was stroking it. Sansa noticed that the bags under his eyes were violet and his green eyes, so similar to Cersei’s, were bloodshot. She didn’t feel sorry for him. That was what happened when you were so close to Cersei Lannister. “I got a message,” he told Tyrion, glancing at Sansa. Sansa glared at him. Jaime pulled a scroll from his inner pocket with his one good hand. Sansa glanced at his fake hand. She’d heard that he had lost his right hand. To see it was satisfying, although it didn’t make up for her father losing his head.

Tyrion took the scroll from Jaime and read it. Sansa watched curiously as Tyrion furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand,” Tyrion said, handing Jaime back the scroll. Jaime shook his head, closing his eyes.

“It came with this,” Jaime said, pulling a sword hilt out from his inner pocket. Sansa saw that it was beautiful, red and gold with inset rubies and beautiful details that Sansa could make out from the bed. She had a feeling she had seen something similar before. Tyrion took the sword hilt from Jaime too, glancing at the sword on Jaime’s hip. Sansa noticed that Jaime’s own sword hilt was similar to the other.

“You- there were two swords,” Tyrion said and Sansa furrowed her brow. She wasn’t following. “What happened to Joffrey’s sword?” he asked. Sansa remembered Joffrey cutting Tyrion’s wedding present in half.

Jaime shook his head, patting the sword on his hip. “This is Joffrey’s Widow’s Wail,” he said, his tone colouring with disgust. Sansa was surprised at the tone, given that he was Joffrey’s father. Perhaps he, unlike Cersei, could see that Joffrey had been a monster. “This was from the sword Father made for me,” Jaime told Tyrion, gesturing at the sword hilt. “If you look, it has J and L engraved into it.” Tyrion studied the hilt.

“Why-”

“I gave it to Brienne.” Tyrion’s eyebrows bobbed down and then flew back up. Sansa rolled the name around her mind.

“The woman who brought you to King’s Landing. Why would you give the sword to her?” Tyrion’s tone was incredulous. Sansa watched Jaime’s reluctant face and sensed that this was a personal story. As she began to rise to excuse herself, Jaime began to speak.

“Widow’s Wail and Oathkeeper - that’s the name she gave it - were made from Ice.” Jaime directed this comment towards Sansa. Her heart jumped and her body followed, making her way over to Jaime’s sword. He unstrapped it from his waist and allowed her to handle it. Sansa traced her finger down the flat edge of her father’s sword, feeling tears spring to her mind.

“You have no right to this,” she said, her voice breaking. Jaime nodded.

“I know. I gave the other half to Brienne because I sent her to search for you, my lady,” he said. Sansa looked up from the whirls on the sword, less beautiful without her father being attached to it. Jaime’s eyes were honest but she didn’t trust him an inch. “Your mother freed me when your brother was keeping me hostage,” Jaime started. Sansa looked down again. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear this. She just wanted to cry. “She sent me back to King’s Landing with a captor. Both of us swore that we would send you and your sister back to her when we arrived. By the time we arrived, you had gone and your mother was dead.” Sansa allowed herself a sob. “But I had made a vow, so I sent my captor, Brienne, away with half of your father’s sword and a new coat of armour, to find and protect you so that I could fulfil my vow to your mother.”

Sansa remembered the woman who had wanted to take her away from Baelish. She was tall and ugly and Sansa hadn’t trusted her. She should have trusted her. “My mother trusted her?” Sansa asked Jaime, who nodded. “Oh, God, she found me and I didn’t let her save me,” she confessed. “I didn’t trust her.” Jaime’s face faltered, glancing at the sword hilt still in Tyrion’s hands. Sansa’s eyes widened and her mind cleared. “What happened to her? Where is she?” she demanded.

Jaime passed Sansa the scroll which he had shown Tyrion earlier, taking his sword back as he did. Giving the kingslayer a wary look, Sansa unfurled it.

_ Come and collect your wench, kingslayer. _

_ Lord Ramsay Bolton, Warden of the North _

“No,” Sansa muttered, dropping the scroll. “It’s my fault.” Jaime hesitated and Sansa nodded. “She was trying to save me and oh god - what if she’s dead?” Sansa wailed, falling to the floor. She felt Tyrion’s hand on her shoulder and she moved so that she could bury her face into his chest. This woman had come to save her and she had ignored her, led her to Ramsay. Sansa wondered if she had been there at the same time as her, if she had heard her screams.

“You are here to save her?” Sansa sobbed to the kingslayer. Jaime nodded ever so slightly, his jaw stiff.

“Or to return her to her home,” Jaime said and his voice broke. Sansa shook her head. She couldn’t possibly be dead. Her saviour. The woman who had fought for her despite knowing nothing of her. She couldn’t possibly be dead. Sansa glanced at Jaime again and saw tears shining in his eyes.

She was about to speak when she heard the tent rustle. “What is it, Varys?” Tyrion said, his voice restrained. Sansa pulled away and stood up, drying her eyes.

“A message, my lord. The attack was a success.”


	6. Chapter 6

They arrived at Winterfell on horseback. Sansa was flanked by Jaime and Missandei, Tyrion behind her with Varys. They trotted as quickly as they could, trying desperately to ignore the stench of death which had bloomed over the castle. Bodies lay strewn across the grounds, some stabbed, more burnt, and Sansa watched Daenerys’ soldiers lining up Ramsay’s soldiers against the walls. The feeling in her heart lightened. She would be safe soon. Ramsay would be gone.

Sansa glanced at Jaime Lannister, the desperation on his face as he looked from side to side. She knew who he was looking for. They rode past the dragon queen’s largest dragon and were greeted by Jorah Mormont at the gates, who stopped them. “The Kingslayer,” he growled. 

Tyrion rode up to Mormont. Sansa didn’t know what excuse he could give for Cersei’s brother being there but, swinging down from his horse, he clearly found one because they were waved through to the interior of the castle walls.

There was more death to be found here, more blood but less charred flesh which Sansa was grateful for. It was not a smell with which she wanted to become accustomed. Sansa allowed a soldier to help her down from her horse, watching as Tyrion approached the dragon queen who was speaking with Daario Naharis. She greeted him with a smile Sansa found quite jarring considering all the death which surrounded them. She supposed Daenerys had been waiting to win a victory in Westeros for a long time.

Quickly, Daenerys lost her smile though and she was shouting, ordering for Jaime’s arrest. Soldiers surrounded him and Sansa quickly slipped away to where Tyrion was. If Jaime was arrested, it was up to her to find her saviour, to find Brienne. And to ascertain whether or not she was alive.

“Please, your grace,” Tyrion pleaded with Daenerys, who shot him a cold look.

“You are pleading for your family far too often, Lord Tyrion,” she replied and Sansa felt her throat constrict. Tyrion looked on helplessly as Jaime joined the lines of Ramsay’s soldiers against the walls. Sansa felt her heart squeeze slightly. All he wanted to do was find Brienne.

“Your grace,” Sansa started, ignoring the annoyed look Daenerys shot her, “were there any prisoners here?”

Daenerys considered her for a moment. “Yes, about 50 in the dungeons.” Sansa nodded. “They are with your husband’s soldiers.” Sansa flinched at the reference to her husband.

“They are prisoners?” Tyrion squawked from beside her. Daenerys nodded.

“I have no way of knowing who is loyal. If they prove to be loyal, they will be released,” she promised. Sansa thought that was fair. She wouldn’t put it past Ramsay to use his prisoners against an attacker. Sansa thought of Theon.

“Was there a tall, blonde woman?” Sansa asked, remembering the woman who wanted to save her. She glanced over to Jaime Lannister who was still struggling against his bonds. Biting her lip, she turned back to the dragon queen, who was watching her consideringly.

“Yes, there was.”

“Can I see her?” Sansa asked eagerly, her heart above the clouds. She could make it up to Brienne. Daenerys narrowed her eyes and Sansa was reminded of who she was dealing with.

“No. You have no access to any prisoners,” the queen said coldly. Sansa stepped back as though struck and she heard Tyrion begin to talk but the queen cut him off. “Your husband escaped, Lady Sansa.”

And with that, the light feeling in Sansa’s heart disappeared to be replaced with dread. “Ramsay escaped?” she stuttered. Ramsay wasn’t dead.

“He did.” Sansa felt bile rise in her throat and she was bent over and vomiting before she could stop herself. Someone, probably Tyrion, reached for her hair and moved it away from her mouth. Sansa stared at the gravel floor. She wasn’t safe. How could she have ever thought she was safe? Ramsay was free. He wasn’t dead and she knew that he was coming to get her.

**XXX**

Jaime Lannister leaned back against the walls of Winterfell, hating them, hating everything. Being there reminded him of the last time he had been there, of throwing Bran Stark out of a window and starting a war. Of Cersei. His jaw clenched. He moved his body so that he could feel the sword hilt in his pocket, a reminder of who he was and who he wanted to be. Who Brienne wanted him to be. Who she believed he already was.

He was no help to her here, though, chained to hundreds more soldiers, most likely about to become dragon food. Brienne was somewhere in this godforsaken castle, probably already dead. He had to do everything he could to find her body and return it to Tarth and then spend the rest of his life becoming the person she had believed he was.

And if she was alive…

Jaime didn’t allow himself to dream. Ramsay’s note had not mentioned anything of her state: whether she was dead or alive. Jaime had heard of Ramsay’s cruelty. It would be just like him to bring him all this way, to her rescue, only for her to have been murdered. Jaime felt tears prick behind his eyes. He’d ridden for three weeks and he was finally here, only to be restrained and not allowed to search for her and to protect her.

Jaime watched as Sansa spoke with the dragon queen. She was his only hope now. Jaime knew that she would try to find Brienne. She had been so pained when Jaime had told her what had happened. Part of Jaime wanted to blame her. A lot of Jaime did blame her. But then he remembered Brienne and what she would think. She would not blame Sansa. And, if she did, then Ramsay had hurt her too much and she wouldn’t be Brienne anymore.

Jaime felt his stomach clench. Three weeks since he had received the raven. She’d been here for at least three weeks, if not a month. What would she be like if he found her alive? Jaime felt bile rise in his throat, at the same moment as he saw Sansa Stark stumble and vomit. Wincing, Jaime witnessed his brother move her hair out of the way.

A horrible sensation filled Jaime. What if Sansa had been asking about Brienne? What if the dragon queen already knew that Brienne was dead? What if Jaime truly was too late? He turned to the man next to him. “Have you seen a woman, very tall, ugly, short hair, blonde?” he asked the northerner.

The northern soldier’s lip curled and he spat at Jaime, hitting his cheek. Without an unrestrained hand to wipe his cheek, Jaime could only turn to the man next to him. “A woman - tall, ugly, blonde?” he pleaded and the man smirked.

“The kingslayer’s whore,” he replied and Jaime’s stomach turned.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice wobbling. What had they done to her?

The soldier’s smirk grew but, before he could answer, Jaime found that one of the dragon queen’s commanders had approached. “Silence!” he all but screamed, slapping Jaime across the face. Snickers spread across the whole yard of Winterfell. Jaime groaned at the pain that resonated in his face. This wasn’t how he had imagined things going at all.

The soldiers had started to shout things, all insulting. “Sister-fucker,” he heard clearly and winced, hanging his head. No matter what he did, he would never be anything more than he was: a man without honour.

**XXX**

Brienne’s hands were bound. She stared at them, unseeing. When the soldiers had come to the cell where she was being kept, she had thought it a rescue. She was only partly right. Ramsay and her torturers were gone but she was a prisoner still. They’d left her in the dungeons for a while, with the other women who shared her cell. Then, after a while - Brienne had lost all sense of time - some of the silent dark-skinned soldiers had come to collect them.

They’d been tied in a line, all the women, hands-bound, led by a sellsword Brienne recognised as belonging to the Second Sons sellsword company. The sellsword would tug the rope every so often, to hurry them along. They ascended steps clumsily and eventually met with daylight. Brienne was not the only woman to struggle. It had been months for some of them since they’d seen the sun, felt it on their skin. Although it had only been about a week without sunlight for her, Brienne’s eyes burned and tears escaped as they struggled to adjust. The sellsword had no sympathy, tugging the rope that joined them and forcing them into the open.

They weren’t the only prisoners. The walls were lined with them, some of whom Brienne recognised as her tormentors, others she recognised from the nights Ramsay would parade her around the great hall of Winterfell. Brienne blinked back tears. Surely it would be over soon. Surely the army that had defeated Ramsay would free them.

The sellsword approached a woman with light blonde hair. She radiated authority. At the sound of a cry from above, Brienne followed the woman’s eyes. Finding a dragon flying, Brienne identified the woman as Daenerys Targaryen. She felt her heart constrict and was shocked to find it still worked. What did that mean for the realm?

Daenerys was accompanied by two men of differing heights. Brienne quickly identified one of them as Tyrion Lannister. Behind her eyes, she heard herself screaming for another Lannister, begging him to come and save her, seeing him in visions when they drugged her, dreaming of him. Tears slipped down her cheeks. Tears came so easily to her these days. She’d cried every day since she had arrived.

Tyrion was caring for a woman who was bent down and vomiting. Brienne considered that she had probably not smelt the aftereffects of a battle before. It was certainly vomit-inducing. When she pulled up, brushing a thumb across Tyrion’s face, Brienne saw who it was and felt bile rise in her own throat. Sansa Stark.

She was alive.

They’d told her she was dead. Lord Bolton had told her she was dead. He had repeated it, over and over. Brienne sobbed. She was alive. Brienne was not without honour. She would rebuild herself and protect Lady Sansa until she died.

Brienne wasn’t sure how long she stared at Sansa for, her heart becoming lighter with every moment, her future becoming defined with every glance. Her attention was broken, however, by a sudden shout for silence, a slap and jeers coming from every corner of the yard of Winterfell. Brienne looked around, confused. Sansa’s face had fallen at the events.

It was only when she heard “sister-fucker” that she saw him, saw his head hang, saw his chains attaching him to the soldiers next to him. Her breath left her and he was the only person she could see. He had come. He was at Winterfell.

“Jaime!” she called, almost without conscious thought. His head lifted and he looked from left to right rapidly, his newly grown beard swinging either way. “Jaime,” she said, under her breath, staring at him. The woman behind her kicked her, notifying her of a soldier’s approach.

“Silence!” he said and then he slapped her across the face. Brienne did not cry out. After the past few weeks, it would take more than that.

“Brienne,” she heard called from where she knew Jaime was. That, the sound of his rasping voice, made her cry. The soldier narrowed his eyes at her, looking back at Jaime. When he did so, he moved and Brienne could see Jaime, staring at her, lips parted.

“Jaime,” she sobbed. He was so far away. “Jaime.” He had come. He was at Winterfell. He was still so far away. Brienne fell to her knees, the prisoners near her jolting with her. Her body wracked with sobs. Was this real? Was this a dream? She’d dreamt of him before, in that dungeon. When she finally passed out from the pain, he’d been there, in her mind, to greet her, to hold her, to rescue her.

Brienne felt arms encircle her and she almost thought it was Jaime. This person was smaller than Jaime though and had far more hair. Brienne looked up to find that it was Lady Sansa, kneeling beside her. “Lady Brienne,” she whispered, thumbing away Brienne’s tears. “I am so sorry.” Brienne shook her head, wishing she could reach up and take away Sansa’s tears too. “I promise we’re going to free you.”

“Sansa,” a voice called from far. Sansa pressed a kiss to Brienne’s forehead and Brienne cried.

“I’m going to sort it all,” Sansa promised. The lady walked away, leaving Brienne staring at Jaime. The soldier from earlier had gone, possibly at the request of Sansa. The woman behind her hauled her up onto her feet but Brienne’s eyes didn’t leave Jaime’s.

She ignored everything around her but him. He was here. Jaime was here. A soldier approached him but his eyes never left hers. Brienne only noticed what was happening as they began to move him. She broke their eye contact and looked around, finding Tyrion Lannister and Sansa talking to the dragon queen with distress.

They’d taken Jaime’s chains off but Tyrion Lannister was still in distress. What were they going to do? There was a soldier on either side of Jaime, holding him up. He drew closer and Brienne saw the bags under his eyes. She wanted to reach for him, to hold him like she had in the baths of Harrenhal. Shaking, she glanced again at Sansa and Tyrion and followed Sansa’s line of sight.

Brienne’s mouth dropped open. “No!” she cried before she could stop herself. She tried desperately to free herself, to run and save him. “Please,” she sobbed.

It was a nightmare. This was all a nightmare. She ignored the voices of the women closest to her as she watched him. Jaime was straining his neck to look at her. She wanted to hear his voice again. She’d thought she was being rescued but they were worse. They were going to make her watch as they killed Jaime Lannister. Sobs were flowing freely from her. She could hear Sansa and Tyrion fighting against the dragon queen’s intentions. Brienne glanced again at the block with its carving for a head to lie comfortably. Ramsay had used it many times.

“Jaime,” Brienne sobbed as he got closer to it. He was looking at her so intensely. Brienne wondered if there were tears in his eyes but she wasn’t close enough to see. She wasn’t close enough to do anything.

Just as they got to the block and prepared to lie him down, he elbowed one in the face and kicked one in the stomach. Brienne gasped, in relief or delight or shock or horror. She didn’t know. All she knew was that he was running towards her and then his hands were on her face and he was pushing back her hair from her cheeks. “Jaime,” Brienne sobbed.

“I know, I know,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers. “I came as soon as I got the raven, Brienne, trust me.” She nodded, brushing her nose against his. He pressed his forehead into hers even more. She saw his eyes were shining.

“Don’t leave me,” she begged and he let out a sob.

“I don’t want to. Brienne, I want to make it all better,” he said, raising his hand to stroke her cheek. Their time was up. The soldiers had come back and were holding Jaime again. He pressed his whole face against hers, nose to cheek, forehead to forehead and then his warmth was gone. They dragged him away, along the gravel floor. Brienne’s breath caught, her lips parting.

Tyrion was shouting but the whole crowd was cheering. Brienne sobbed. The woman beside her was whispering her apologies. “For the crime of regicide,” the dragon queen shouted as the soldiers pressed Jaime’s head to the block, “Ser Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock-”

“Tell her, Jaime!” Brienne screamed, remembering the way he had looked when she had held him in the baths at Harrenhal. She remembered him in her arms, remembered his confession. “He saved the people!” she shouted. The dragon queen turned to her, looking at her with pure anger.

“He killed my father and he will pay,” she pronounced. Brienne shook her head.

“Jaime, please,” she sobbed. Tyrion approached the dragon queen again.

“You have to give him a trial.” Brienne heard Tyrion’s protest from where she was. Daenerys turned to him and her lip had curled. Brienne did not want this woman on the throne. If she did this, she would spend the rest of her life hunting down every single one of her followers and killing them all, after she had disposed of the Targaryen.

Brienne stared at Jaime and she watched his lips move. She watched him start to tell the story. She wished she could hold him while he told her. It was long, impossibly long, but Brienne knew when he had finished because the dragon queen looked away, then down at Tyrion. “He will have a trial,” she growled. “I am nothing if not fair.”

The crowd booed but Daenerys did not change her mind, stalking off, followed by the man who had stood by her side earlier. Jaime pulled his head up from the block and looked at her, a smile lighting his entire face. Brienne sobbed again, finally, in relief.


	7. Chapter 7

When Jaime finally had her in his arms again, he didn’t let go. He didn’t say anything as Sansa Stark declared to Brienne that she was going to have her freed, didn’t reply when Tyrion asked him if he had a decent defense. The only thing he cared about in that moment was Brienne and the tears that had not stopped since he’d seen her.

“Everything is going to be okay,” he promised her. She shook her head.

“What if she kills you?” Brienne sobbed and Jaime wiped the tears from her face.

“You’ll protect me,” Jaime teased her, desperate to see that Brienne still existed, that she hadn’t been completely broken by the Bastard of Bolton. She sniffled.

“I don’t think I’m much use for anything anymore,” Brienne told him. Jaime put his good hand and his fake hand on her cheeks.

“You could never be useless,” he told her, before taking her back in his arms again. “I’m going to make it all better.”

“Please don’t leave me,” she sobbed in his ear. Jaime shook his head, blinking back his own tears.

“Never again. I’m never going to leave you again.”

**XXX**

By the time that Brienne was freed, Jaime had been arrested again and taken to a cell. Sansa had held Brienne’s hand throughout. She took her to the rooms that had once been Arya’s and sat her down on the bed, watching as she curled herself up. “He said he wouldn’t leave me,” Brienne said without any emotion. Sansa sat next to her, stroking her hair.

“He’ll be back with you before you know it,” Sansa promised, silently apologising to her father and brother for defending the Kingslayer.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you,” Brienne said and Sansa could hear the tears in her throat. Sansa shook her head, brushing the hair back from Brienne’s forehead.

“I’m sorry I refused your help. We would’ve saved each other a lot of pain.” Brienne nodded and Sansa had to blink away her tears. “From now on, we’ll protect each other, right?” Brienne nodded again. “And, I promise, I will do whatever it takes to protect the kingslayer.”

“Jaime,” Brienne said, a bit of passion in her voice. “His name is Jaime.”

Sansa nodded, curling herself next to Brienne so that they could take comfort from each other. “I will protect Jaime.”

Brienne began to sob.

**XXX**

“Your grace, he came here to save Brienne, alone, risking his life. We cannot punish him for that!”

It was the most passionate Tyrion had ever seen Sansa. When they were married, she was always so closed off, behind her ‘Joffrey is my one true love’ mask. And then, while she had been with him more recently, she had been recovering from the trials and tribulations of her second marriage. A marriage Tyrion should have protected her from.

And now she was fighting for his brother’s freedom. Tyrion was glad Sansa was too, else it would have just been Tyrion, and Daenerys was not feeling too fondly towards Tyrion of late. A suspicious wife and now a suspicious brother brought suspicions down on Tyrion himself.

“Please, your grace, the lady Brienne-”

Daenerys cut her off, “I feel sympathy for Lady Brienne, Lady Sansa, but, if I am to free the paramour of every raped woman in the country, I will be surrounded by enemies.”

“He is not her paramour,” Sansa protested, “he is her friend and he has come to save her. She is wasting away and I can't help her! Ser Jaime has made mistakes. I promise you I do not forget them, but, if we do not learn to forgive, how will you build a new realm?”

“The usurper forgave,” Daenerys said scornfully. “He forgave the man who had killed his predecessor and then gave him free rein while the same man fucked his wife, his own sister. The usurper forgave Lord Varys, who betrayed his son and came to serve me. As he did to Ser Barristan Selmy who did the same. Forgiveness is for fools. I am a Targaryen and I bring fire and blood.”

Tyrion winced. Sansa drew herself up to full height. “Your grace, you will find yourself without allies. When Lord Karstark betrayed my brother, my brother chopped his head off and lost the war because of it. Forgiveness is not weakness - it is mercy. It is the sign of a good and true monarch. I believe you are a merciful queen. You allowed me to stay with Tyrion when you could have cast me out for my past, for my name. I know that Jaime Lannister has made mistakes but he is breaking free of them. He is becoming a new man. If you give him the chance to try, you could have the Lannister armies by your side and strike true weakness into Cersei Lannister. Look past his mistakes and look at what he could do for you.”

Tyrion wanted to cheer, he wanted to applaud. His wife was incredible. Sansa Stark was incredible. Tyrion couldn't take his eyes from her, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. Only when Daenerys spoke did Tyrion look away. “Lady Sansa, I make you Warden of the North and Lady of Winterfell on the condition that you will serve me on my counsel until we have won this war.”

Daenerys looked angry still - there was steel behind her eyes. But there was admiration too. And, as Sansa had impressed Tyrion, she had won Daenerys over. “Ser Jaime will not be free,” Daenerys said and Tyrion’s eyes bulged, “but he may be placed under house arrest with Lady Brienne of Tarth, who will remain free. Are these terms acceptable, Lady Sansa?”

“Yes, your grace. You are truly wise.”

Tyrion could have kissed Sansa. She had grown to be so strong, wiser than her years. Daenerys dismissed both of them. Tyrion took Sansa’s hand and pressed a kiss to it. She was incredible. His father had done Tyrion a true kindness when he had married him to Sansa, though Tyrion was sure it was not intentional.

“Let’s go and find my brother.”

Jaime was desperate when they arrived. “Where is she? I need to see her. Tyrion, you have to-”

“Sansa has fought for your release,” Tyrion informed his brother, concerned and yet almost relieved by the wildness he found in his brother’s eyes. How long had it been that Tyrion had watched his brother sit passively with his bitch of a sister? “You are not free. You are confined to Brienne’s chambers.”

Jaime let out a sob that tore Tyrion’s heart from his chest. He wondered when Jaime had fallen in love with this woman. “Can I go now?” Tyrion nodded and Sansa helped pull Jaime up, her hands as kind as the look on her face. Tyrion marvelled at how kind she could be, beneath the steel that had become almost as much of a mask as “Joffrey is my one true love” had once been.

They led Jaime to where Sansa had left Brienne, resting if not asleep. She looked up immediately when they entered, reaching for a sword that was not at her hip. Sitting up sharply, she searched the room until she saw them. “Jaime,” she whispered. Sansa let go of Tyrion’s brother, who approached Brienne quickly and wrapped his arms around her, closing his eyes as he pressed his head to her hair.

Tyrion swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched them. Sansa tapped his shoulder and gestured to the door. Tyrion nodded shakily, taking one last look at his brother and the woman who he was fairly sure would one day be his goodsister, before leaving them. Sansa closed the door softly.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Sansa asked, her voice level though she did not meet his eyes. Tyrion gave her half a smile and reached up to take her hand again.

“Of course.”

They reached Tyrion’s room not long afterwards. Sansa stepped in first, feeling fatigue begin to overwhelm her. Fighting Daenerys for Jaime’s life, comforting Brienne, it had all been emotionally exhausting if not physically. And the fact that Ramsay was still out there. Well, that plagued Sansa more than anything. It had been a major reason for her fighting for Jaime’s release. Sansa felt safe with Tyrion, just as Sansa knew that Brienne felt safe with Jaime. If Sansa could bring comfort and a sense of safety to Brienne while Ramsay lived, she would do so.

“How are you?” Tyrion asked softly when Sansa collapsed onto the chaise longue. She gave him what was likely a tremulous smile.

“I feel a bit as though I could break in two at any moment,” she said honestly, swallowing the lump in her throat. Tyrion gave her a sad smile, sitting next to her on the chaise and taking her hand. He brushed his thumb against the back of it. Sansa watched the movement with tired eyes.

“I’m going to protect you, Sansa,” Tyrion said quietly. Sansa did not look up. “With everything I have. I know that I am not Jaime. I can’t fight for you or even hold you in the same way he can Brienne, but everything I can do I will do. I promise you.”

Sansa nodded, surprised by the warmth that spread within her at his words. She didn’t want him to be able to fight for her. She had had enough of men who could fight, who were always on the offensive. Ramsay had been able to fight. It was with his strong arms that he had whipped her, with his strong arms that he had held her down onto the bed. “He’s going to come back,” Sansa said, her voice shaking.

“I know,” Tyrion said and he truly took her hand into his, tightly. Sansa was grateful for the pressure. It was easier to feel something that way. Her throat burned.

“You can,” Sansa whispered, a few moments later, her eyes watching their hands together. When he was silent, she looked up and found him looking confused. “You can hold me,” she clarified.

“Sansa,” he started but Sansa couldn’t read his tone and he didn’t continue. She shook her head.

“I like it when you hold me,” she confessed and her tone was stained with tears. He gave her as much of a smile as he could and shuffled closer to her. Sansa loosened her grip on his hand and he wrapped his arms around her. Sansa smiled through her slow tears. She wrapped her arms around him too, closing her eyes. She could draw comfort from this, if nothing else in the world.

**XXX**

The next morning, Sansa awoke tangled with Tyrion. She had woken in the night, once, but, upon lighting a candle and breathing to remember where she was, who she was with, she had been able to sleep again. Extricating herself from Tyrion, Sansa found breakfast on a tray, alongside a note, signed by Daenerys, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Sansa plucked the note from the tray and read it. It was an invitation for breakfast. Sansa reconsidered the tray in front of her and realised there was only enough food for one. Sighing, Sansa looked at herself in the mirror. She had no more clothes. She’d been wearing this dress of Missandei’s for two full days, since it had been offered to her. She would have to find some new clothes if she were going to be the Wardeness of the North, and the Lady of Winterfell.

Sansa found a comb in Tyrion’s things and used it to brush through her hair. Tyrion was a deep sleeper, which was good. Sansa often woke with nightmares and she did not want to become a nuisance. Though she trusted him to look after her, sleeping in the same bed was not a prerequisite of that and Sansa did not want him to realise that life was easier looking after her from a few doors down. She enjoyed sleeping in a bed with him. When she woke alone, it was like waking up when she had been with Ramsay. With Tyrion, she felt grounded immediately.

He would leave eventually, Sansa knew. He was Daenerys’ hand and, though Daenerys had asked her to temporarily serve on her small council, eventually Sansa would be ruling the North and Tyrion would be in King’s Landing with his queen. The thought made Sansa feel slightly sick.

She left, as put together as she could be. She would have to request some fabric to make some dresses. A flurry of excitement started in Sansa’s heart, reminding her with great joy that she was free, despite Ramsay’s survival. She could make dresses to her heart’s content, with direwolves and Northern colours. There was no Tywin Lannister to insist she was a Lannister and should wear Lannister colours.

Daenerys’ rooms were not so far from Sansa’s. They were those that belonged to the Lady of Winterfell, though Catelyn Stark had shared her husband’s rather than having her own. She had used the solar attached to them, though, which was where Sansa found Daenerys. Sansa had not entered this room since before she had left for King’s Landing, when she had still wanted to marry Joffrey and had believed that she would be queen of the seven kingdoms. It was with not a little relief that Sansa considered the woman in front of her to be the true queen of the seven kingdoms, despite her temper and often rash decisions.

“Lady Sansa, join me,” Daenerys said, gesturing to a seat at the solar. With a surge of unhappiness that it was Daenerys offering her the seat and not her mother, Sansa sat, well aware of how well Daenerys was dressed.

“I am sorry for the state of my clothing,” Sansa said, glancing down. “I shall have to run up some dresses. Perhaps I will destroy the ones that Ramsay had made for me to create my own.” The thought of that sounded very cathartic.

Daenerys inclined her head. “That sounds like an excellent idea, Lady Sansa. If I can provide anything, you need only ask.”

“You are very kind, your grace.” Daenerys smiled. She had a very obvious smile, had a very obvious face really. Every emotion was clear. Sansa was not sure that was an entirely good thing. In fact, she had been disappointed by how often she could read Cersei’s face, although Cersei’s words were always masked. In Sansa’s mind, a true queen had a face that showed nothing except what should be. But perhaps it was good for the people to know what their queen felt and thought.

The breakfast arrived, plentiful and reminding Sansa of her childhood. She could smell the cinnamon porridge immediately. “I asked the kitchen if they remembered your favourite foods,” Daenerys said. Sansa gave the queen a smile. It was very kind of her to do so. Cinnamon porridge was indeed her favourite. On the days that her torture had been the worst under Ramsay, breakfast would be sent up with a sprinkle of cinnamon on the porridge and Sansa had known she was not alone. It was a thought and a flavour that warmed her heart.

“You were happy growing up at Winterfell, my lady?” Daenerys asked, cutting into some fried bread. Sansa nodded, her lips growing into a smile as she considered growing up, surrounded by siblings and love.

“Very, your grace. My parents created a very happy place for us to grow up.”

Daenerys smiled, a tinge of sadness visible in it. “I only had one brother. My other brother died before I was even born. He was all I had for most of my life. It was not a very happy place to grow, but grow I did.” The sadness cleared. “Your siblings, what happened to them?”

Sansa cleared her throat, half to begin speaking, half to clear the burning that formed there at the thought of her siblings. “You will know that my brother Robb became King in the North and was murdered at my uncle’s wedding alongside my mother and goodsister.” Daenerys inclined her head, closing her eyes briefly. Sansa swallowed. “My half-brother, my father’s bastard, is called Jon Snow and he is the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

“Truly?” Daenerys said. Sansa nodded, a surge of pride for her brother. It was shocking that he had risen so far. It was a testament to his strength. “And your other brothers?”

“Bran and Rickon disappeared when Theon Greyjoy stole Winterfell. They were not murdered but escaped. I suppose it is quite likely that they are dead but I refuse to believe so until they are placed in front of me.”

Daenerys gave her a pitying smile and Sansa felt anger burn in her stomach. Her family was not to be pitied. She did not pity herself. She used her family’s pain to grow strong. She would fight for the Stark legacy, until she was gone herself. “And your sister?” Daenerys pressed.

Sansa smiled at the thought of Arya. “Arya,” she sighed. “Arya escaped King’s Landing when my father was killed. I do not know what happened to her. I cannot believe she is dead. She is the most cunning, brave girl in Westeros. She will have survived. I believe she is fighting for our family as we speak,” Sansa said, pride filling her chest. Arya was not dead, could not be dead. She would be coming to Winterfell, as soon as she knew it was safe. Sansa was sure.

“I hope that I will meet them one day. Arya and Jon, at least.” Sansa nodded. She thought Daenerys might be of an age with Jon, perhaps one or two years younger. Between Sansa and Jon at any rate. “Lord Tyrion has met them, I suppose.” Sansa inclined her head. “What do you feel for Lord Tyrion?”

And finally, the reason for this breakfast meeting became clear. Sansa did not smile. “Lord Tyrion is my protector, your grace, and he was once my husband. I have great feelings for him, a great fondness.”

“And you share his bed,” Daenerys asked. Sansa nodded.

“I sleep with him, your grace. He keeps me safe.” Daenerys gave her a pitying look once more. Sansa could have hated her for it, if she were not too keeping Sansa safe. “When Ramsay is dead, I will have no more need for Lord Tyrion,” Sansa said, not entirely sure if she were telling the truth. Daenerys inclined her head.

“Well, then, let us drink to Ramsay Bolton’s death,” Daenerys said, raising her goblet of water. Sansa smiled through the bitterness and confusion that came with that statement in relation to Sansa’s own, lifting her own goblet.

**XXX**

The Bastard chuckled as he approached the dark room. It smelled. It was not quite as lovely as his previous castle had been, but it worked for his requirements. “Reek,” he shrieked, enjoying the whimper that came from the boy in the corner of the room. “Reek, Reek, Reek. What should I do with you? What should be done to dirty freaks who steal their master’s wife?”

Reek stayed silent, which annoyed the Bastard. “Did you fuck her?” he asked, leaning in close to Reek’s face though the smell made his eyes water. “Did you spread my wife’s lovely thighs and stick your fingers in her? Did she beg for you? Was she wet and willing?”

Reek flinched away from each question. The Bastard chuckled again. The answers did not matter. All he required of Sansa was an heir. If she was pregnant now, he would have to kill the child. He needed a true Bolton heir, not a Greyjoy heir, and he just could not take the risks. He could cope with some more fucking of Sansa Stark, though.

Grabbing Reek’s matted hair, the Bastard shrieked with laughter, bringing his knife close enough to draw blood from his cheek. “I do think you have too many fingers, if you can use them to fuck my wife.”

Reek’s screams set the Bastard’s blood on fire. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is some non-detailed description of sexual assault and some also quite non-detailed description of torture. There is also a description of a panic attack

The evening after Sansa had eaten breakfast with the queen, she was seated to her left side, with Tyrion on her right as they ate dinner with the men and women of Winterfell. On Tyrion’s other side was Ser Jorah and next to Sansa was Missandei, Queen Daenerys’ handmaiden and translator, a girl who was far kinder to others than they had treated her throughout her life. Sansa found her company quite pleasant. She reminded her of the friends that Sansa had had when she was younger, when she had always had company for sewing and games.

Queen Daenerys was kind, too, especially when she was well-tempered. She asked Sansa questions about her childhood and about Winterfell and its surrounding areas. She treated Sansa equally as an ally and as a friend, which pleased Sansa greatly. In the next few days, the Northern Lords would start arriving to swear fealty to Daenerys, in answer to the ravens that had been sent as soon as Winterfell had been taken, a clever action that would likely ensure swift response and swift takeup of Daenerys’ cause from the Northerners.

Even in spite of having two women who she considered to be her almost friends to either side, Sansa missed Tyrion. She spoke with him when Daenerys engaged them both in conversation but she was used to sitting by his side, enjoying his witty remarks and wry observations. His sense of humour had rooted its way into Sansa’s heart in a way that it had not when they were first married. Then, Sansa could not appreciate that Tyrion was anything other than a Lannister and all Lannisters were evil. She had grown up since. Every time he made her laugh, her body became warmer, her soul opened a bit further from its walls.

And she loved talking to him. He was the cleverest man she had ever met that wasn’t a maester. Sometimes, when they were alone and he was reading, he would tell her something he had read in his book, something completely nonsensical but fascinating. Sansa tried to repay the favour when she read. Sansa glanced down at her plate to hide her smile. Life was so different now that sometimes she thought it was all a dream and soon she would wake and be in Ramsay’s bed.

When dinner was over, the queen raised a toast to the people of Winterfell and their freedom, and then she turned to Sansa. “And to the new Lady of Winterfell and her freedom, Lady Sansa Stark!”

Goosebumps raised on Sansa’s arms as the cheer went up around the room. Sansa smiled at the sight of Northerners and Essosi alike cheering, at the sound of Tyrion banging his goblet against the table, at Missandei’s sweet smile and the shouts of praise for the Starks. This was home, she thought, looking to her right where Tyrion smiled at her. This was Winterfell.

XXX

When impromptu dancing started and Daenerys joined it with Daario Naharis, Sansa took the empty seat to Tyrion’s right, where Ser Jorah had been sitting before retiring once the dancing had begun. Tyrion smiled upon seeing her and raised his goblet to her. “To the Lady of Winterfell,” he said, tipping his head.

Sansa thought he might have been a little bit in his cups, so she eased the goblet from his hand and placed it back on the table with a smile, ignoring his open-mouthed gaze. “May I stay with you tonight?” she asked, as quietly as she possibly could. With a squirm of her stomach, she forced herself to believe that she was quiet in protection of her modesty and reputation, rather than at the thought of her people thinking she was bedding a Lannister. She supposed that, in truth, it was both. The loyalty of the Northerners was such a fragile thing.

Tyrion gave her the same easy smile that he gave her every time that she asked this question. “You may stay as long as you like, Sansa,” he said with a smile. Sansa smiled, wondering if she would do as she said to Daenerys and leave when Ramsay was dead. Her smile fell from her face. She was the Lady of Winterfell now and she would have to. Once Ramsay was dead, she would return to her own chamber, brave enough to sleep alone. She would not be ashamed of staying with Tyrion for now, not while she was so scared of Ramsay and while Ramsay was such a tangible threat, but, after he was gone, there would be no excuse for the impropriety to continue. Sansa briefly wondered if Queen Daenerys would ensure that it stopped, to get rid of any rumour of impropriety in her court. Sansa would understand that well.

“Just until- until the Bastard is dealt with,” Sansa said with a smile that she hoped looked more confident than she felt. Tyrion gave her a smile, tighter than his previous one.

“The Queen has people out searching.”

XXX

“How are you feeling?” Jaime murmured, stroking Brienne’s wet hair back from her face. She gave him half a smile, settling back onto the bed. She had left to have a bath, behind the screen that Sansa had provided. Jaime had lain in bed, trying to hold back the tears that had been threatening since he’d first held her the previous day. But he couldn’t cry, not when she was the one who had been hurt.

“I want to tell you what happened.” Jaime’s eyes widened. “You have a right to know,” she said and she averted her eyes from him, an awkwardness that Jaime associated very heavily with Brienne taking over her. Jaime reached across and brushed a thumb across her cheek, hating himself the second she flinched. She shook her head when he opened his mouth to apologise.

“Brienne, you don’t have to tell me anything. I’ll listen if you want to but don’t you dare tell me just because you think I should know,” Jaime said passionately. Brienne gave him a sort of smile, pressing her lips together in a line.

“He- The Bastard didn’t rape me,” Brienne said slowly. Jaime swallowed his immediate reaction of utter, blinding relief and continued staring at her. If it wasn’t that, it was something else. She was Brienne of Tarth and she’d been broken by something. “He didn’t touch me at all. He stood there and ordered it done.”

“Ordered rape?” Jaime interrupted before withdrawing and cursing himself, wishing that he had been taught restraint as a child. Brienne wasn’t angry, although she shook her head a bit impatiently.

“No, Ser Jaime, I wasn’t raped,” she said and Jaime saw irritation flash in her shining blue eyes at his lack of understanding. Jaime nodded for her to continue, hoping she could see the apology in his eyes. “I wasn’t raped but that didn’t stop them doing- other things.” Jaime didn’t want to hear it. He wanted to run out of the room, take her with him, run to Essos and pretend it had all never happened. Instead, he didn’t move his eyes from hers.

“They tortured me until I started to scream and then they asked me questions about why I was here and what I wanted and then they told me Sansa was dead. And then the Bastard came in and ordered them to do one thing or another,” Brienne said, averting her eyes. Jaime wanted to touch her wrist, wanted to bring her comfort. He left his hands on his lap. “He made them put their fingers inside me, made them put their- put their cocks in my mouth, near my mouth,” Brienne said, her eyes flashing with tears. Jaime’s throat burned from the effort of not crying.

“And, when they got bored of that, they whipped me and they-” Brienne let out a sob “- they killed the women sharing my cell right before my eyes and there was nothing I can do, not a thing I could do, Jaime, I tried, I tried,” she wept. “And then I screamed for you and they called me the Kingslayer’s Whore and- they sent you that raven and then they gave me this- I don’t know what it was, some sort of potion” she said, swiping furiously at her eyes, angry at herself for crying.

“It made me see things,” Brienne said, shaking her head. “Things that weren’t there. They forced it down me and-”

Jaime closed his eyes. He could see the terror in her eyes and he hated it, hated that he hadn’t been able to get here faster. “I saw you,” Brienne said, making Jaime’s eyes wince open. “I saw you and I screamed for you and they beat me while I did.”

She carried on for a little while, recounting humilation and pain, until finally she got to Ramsay leaving and the physical pain stopping. “Jaime, I tried not to let them-”

“Don’t,” Jaime said, shaking his head, hoping that the way he looked at her comforted her as much as her touch would comfort him. “Don’t apologise or say that it was your fault or that you tried to stop it. Brienne, none of this was your fault. There was nothing that you could do.” Tears filled his throat, blurred his voice but he thought she understood anyway. “You are the strongest person I know and I’m never going to leave you again.”

Brienne shook her head. “Please, Jaime,” she said and tears still leaked down her beautiful ugly face. “Don’t lie to me. You have to- you are going to have to go back to her.”

Jaime knew that she spoke of Cersei. The thought of his sister panged his chest but the thought of Brienne hurt more. Jaime shook his head. “I am never leaving you again. I’m not going back to Cersei. I’m going to look after you forever. We’re going to look after each other forever.”

“Jaime, you’re a Kingsguard,” she said but Jaime heard that there was more emotion in her voice after his passionate declaration. Jaime shook his head.

“They’ve called me Oathbreaker for worse than this.”

“What is this?” she demanded, passion in those sparkling blue eyes instead of pain. “Why would you stay?”

“I love you,” Jaime said loudly, not wanting to soften the mood. He loved that her eyes were sparkling like they used to. He would spend the rest of his life trying to bring back that sparkle in her eyes, trying to take away her pain and renew her spirit with happiness and teasing and laughter. Those were things he could bring, could give her, if not honour or a good name,

Brienne was silent, staring at him. Jaime shook his head, smiling. “You don’t have to say anything. You don’t have to say you feel the same-”

But she opened her mouth and spoke, “I do,” and Jaime was glad. She gave him a tremulous smile. “I do.”

Jaime reached across to her slowly, giving her time to say no, and he wiped the tears from her face even while more flowed down her cheeks. “We’re going to be okay,” Jaime said, nodding purposefully once, looking her in the eyes. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now but we are. We are going to be okay.”

Brienne didn’t nod but she didn’t shake her head either, only pressed her face into Jaime’s shoulder as she began to rock with more sobs. He carefully wrapped his arms around her and let her cry. Tears came to his own eyes and he let them fall down onto her head. It truly did not feel like it but they would be okay.

XXX

Sansa arrived with a confident knock to the door, not the quiet, timid thing she had used the previous night. Tyrion supposed it was because he had said that she could stay for as long as she liked, that she felt more comfortable arriving. She was still not quite comfortable enough to walk straight in, though.

She wore her day clothes, as usual. With a smile and no words, she slipped behind the screen as she did every night to change into her shift. Tyrion had mixed feelings about this part of the day, though none of them were necessarily negative. He loved that she trusted him enough to not hurt her or peep on her while she changed, but he was also painstakingly aware that his beautiful ex-wife was naked in his chambers. And then he had to lie next to her.

Sansa reappeared wearing a plain white shift. Now, though her face was so wonderfully beautiful, she could have been anyone. They could have been just another poor couple living in the town nearby, with no power and no sadness or grief. Tyrion smiled at his ex-wife, wondering at the unfathomable luck that he had received when Daenerys’ army train had found her.

“Are you sleepy?” Sansa asked as she sat down on the bed and swung her legs over so that she was sitting comfortable, her beautiful auburn hair in a plait, stark red against the white pillow. Tyrion shrugged.

“Not particularly,” he replied. Sansa smiled.

“Can you read to me?”

This was one of Sansa’s favourite things. He had done it for her a few times while they were married, something that Shae had found oddly intimate, though Tyrion had explained that he had only wanted to comfort her. Now, Tyrion did it for the same reasons but felt none of the guilt he had previously. Perhaps it was his love of books and his knowledge of the power that they held, but he did find the experience rather intimate.

Tyrion picked up his book from his bedside table. He had lain it aside when Sansa had knocked. It was from the Winterfell library, about the history of the Wall. Sansa turned her head to the side, resting her porcelain cheek against the pillow, as Tyrion began to read.

At the end of every page, Tyrion would look up and find Sansa staring at him, a smile gracing her pretty lips. He did not necessarily believe in the Seven but it could only be the Gods’ kindness that had given him this opportunity, to lie in a bed with this wonder of a woman, to bring her comfort. Though, Tyrion supposed, they could have made it a bit easier to hide his attraction to her. They could have made her ugly or unkind. That would have made it easier. As it were, Tyrion could find no faults, making his life increasingly difficult.

After about an hour of enjoyable reading, Tyrion noticed that Sansa’s eyes were drooping. With a chuckle, he took the bookmark from the surface beside him and placed it at the page. “I was enjoying that,” Sansa said. A yawn marred her voice and Tyrion grinned.

“I can carry on tomorrow,” he promised, sliding the book onto the table with difficulty. “We can’t have the Lady of Winterfell falling asleep on duty. What would we tell them?”

Sansa grinned. “I’d tell them you kept me awake all night. That would give them something to talk about.” Tyrion snorted.

“I think they’ve enough to talk about.” Tyrion watched as Sansa adjusted the pillows. She had slid under the covers about half an hour previously and now was perfectly placed to sleep.

“Are you getting under?” Sansa asked, her eyes barely open. Tyrion nodded hesitatingly. It was a shuffle to get under the covers without getting off the bed and his struggles had Sansa giggling at him, for which he gave her a glare. She was closer to him than Tyrion had anticipated. He wondered if she knew the effect she was having on him. He hoped not. He would hate for her to feel uncomfortable.

She snuggled down into her pillow and let out a sigh. “Goodnight, Tyrion,” she said. Tyrion smiled, unable to take his eyes from her.

“Goodnight, Sansa,” he whispered, turning over to blow out the candle at his side.

XXX

Sansa woke though her eyes remained closed, listening carefully to the sounds around her. She took in three deep breaths and remembered where she was, remembered who she was. Ramsay was in her sleep but he was not in her life, not any longer. When she had told herself that she was strong and that she had escaped, she opened her eyes and smiled. Tyrion was at her side.

He had read to her last night, she remembered, moving slightly closer to him to steal some of his warmth. They mustn’t have put enough wood on the fire before sleep last night because the fire had burned out - a southerner’s error.

Tyrion snored lightly. Ramsay had never snored so it was nice that Tyrion did. It meant that when she woke up she remembered immediately where she was. With a jolt of fear and anxiety, Sansa wondered how she would know where she was when she had to sleep alone. Though Ramsay would be dead, Sansa was sure he would live in her dreams for years to come.

Sansa’s worry had her moving closer to Tyrion, as though to keep him in her arms for longer. Almost instantaneously, she jerked back, squeezing her eyes back closed. Tyrion had an erection. She knew it was normal, understood that men woke up like this sometimes. Petyr Baelish had given her a horrible, creepy talk about sex that Sansa still sometimes relived in her dreams, the way he had leered at her, the way he had spoken about her body as though it belonged to him.

And she supposed it had because you could only sell what you already owned.

Sansa lay her hands flat against the charcoal coverlet, wishing them to stop shaking. Tyrion waking up like this was normal. It was not his fault. Sansa swallowed. It was not her fault either. She could feel every breath coming out of her lungs, tried to slow them down and remember that she was safe, she was with Tyrion.

She had felt safe once with Petyr Baelish and then he had wanted her, had seen her mother in her. Bile rose in Sansa’s throat. Her heart raced. She trusted Tyrion. She could trust Tyrion.

But she had trusted Petyr, had trusted him not to kiss her, not to fancy her. She had trusted him to look after her and he had fallen in love with her and had expected things-

Sansa turned over abruptly, shifting the coverlet with a force that must have woken Tyrion. The thought made Sansa’s hands shake. She jumped out of bed. Her head turned from side to side desperately, like a caught animal searching for freedom. Her slippers were on the floor. Her dress was hung over the screen.

Nothing was on properly when she heard Tyrion’s sleep-infused voice. “Sansa?” he said. Sansa gasped, the sound shaking as it escaped from her throat. Tyrion’s eyes were on her. She wondered what he saw.

Catching a sob with her hand against her mouth, Sansa turned away from her ex-husband, unbarred the door and fled.

XXX

Brienne had awoken when breakfast had arrived. She had smiled as kindly as she could at the maid, though she received a nervous, curious look in return. Jaime was sleeping peacefully beside her. Brienne thanked the maid when she left the tray on the table by the window and bobbed a curtsey on her way out.

The cinnamon porridge smelled very nicely. Sansa had explained to Brienne the previous day when she had brought some for her that it was her very favourite thing to eat for breakfast. Brienne agreed that it was delicious as well as energising, the sort of thing one would want to eat before sparring.

Brienne wanted to spar. It was a joyful prospect. For the first time in a month or more, she felt the itching to spar beneath her fingers and could, in theory, go out and spar. She slid from the bed easily, glancing at Jaime’s beautiful face. If she were braver, perhaps she would kiss him. After last night’s confessions, she was sure he would not mind.

But her mind was on other things. Dressed only in her shift, Brienne silently picked Jaime’s sword belt from the post at the end of the bed and slid his sword from the sheath. It was the twin to hers, though embedded with a stag rather than a lion. With a surge of unhappiness, Brienne wondered what Ramsay had done to the beautiful sword that Jaime had gifted her.

The sword felt well in her hands, heavy and purposeful. Brienne adjusted her stance until she was comfortable, ignoring the pain in her body that lingered from her most recent and some less recent tortures. That was not going to happen again. Jaime was here to protect her now.

In the small space, Brienne could not really spar, lacking not only the room but the other person. She could practise her stances, though. They made her body burn with pain and then hum with pleasure. It had been so long. This was what her body was made for.

After a few moments, she was interrupted by Jaime’s gravelly voice. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked, his eyelids low and his face lit up with an easy smirk. This was the Jaime that she had always known. She grinned, feeling happiness lighting up her bones.

“Come and join me,” Brienne pleaded. Jaime slid out of bed, still fully dressed. Brienne had not noticed before that he had not changed into his night clothes.

“You’ve got my sword, sweetling,” Jaime said, a teasing grin at his lips. Brienne made a face at the sweet name. “How am I to spar with you?” Brienne slumped. Jaime shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I could go out later and find a training sword,” Brienne said, though the prospect filled her stomach with nerves. Jaime approached and nodded, an apologetic smile on his face. Brienne glanced down to where she saw his hand twitching. Impulsively, Brienne grabbed it and brushed her thumb against the back of it, enjoying the feel of his coarse skin. She looked up and found him staring at her. The look sent tingles down her spine and she held his eye contact for a few seconds, wondering if she were brave enough to kiss him.

The very thought made her drop his hand and break away from his mossy eyes. Inspiration struck Brienne. “Do you want to try and run a circuit?”

Half an hour later, Brienne was positively buzzing with the after-effects of exercise, when she stumbled away from the bed where she was counting Jaime’s sit ups to the door from which they had heard knocking. Panting and sweating, Brienne opened the door.

Behind it, she found Daenerys, the dragon queen. Brienne’s easy, energy-induced smile fell from her face. “Good morning, your grace,” Brienne said, curtseying as well as she could, which was not very well. Brienne heard Jaime curse behind her. “How can we help you?”

The dragon queen gave her a pitying smile and asked to come inside. Brienne allowed her in, nodding at her maid who came tottering behind her. She closed the door behind her, though she did not bar it. “Lady Brienne, I wanted to speak with you,” Queen Daenerys said, shooting a glance at Jaime who was sitting at the edge of the bed, in the nightclothes he had finally changed into, to make the circuit easier and, Brienne guessed, to make Brienne feel more comfortable about being in hers in front of him. The thought made Brienne realise she was still in her shift too, in front of the queen. She flushed.

“I wanted to offer my protection,” the queen said. Brienne swallowed. “Lady Sansa has spoken with me. She assured your- Ser Jaime’s release.” Brienne wondered briefly what the queen was going to say after ‘your’. There was not really a word for the relationship that she and Jaime shared.

“Your grace, your offer is very kind,” Brienne said, ducking her head.

“I swear to you, as I have to Lady Sansa, that we are going to find this Bastard and have him executed for what he has done to you and to her and to countless others who we are trying to rehabilitate in the castle.”

Brienne gave the queen a genuine smile and received one in return. Brienne had reacted very passionately and very harshly to the queen when she met her, so angry that she was going to kill Jaime when she did not know the truth of what had happened. Brienne tampered down the anger that that memory stirred inside her.

“Thank you, your grace,” Brienne said, offering an awkward curtsey again. Daenerys gave her a kind, if patronising, smile. Brienne had received the same look from a thousand ladies. She could practically hear their thoughts on her, on the huge, awkward woman so cursed by the Gods. One look at Jaime told Brienne that she was not cursed at all. With her eyes still on Jaime, she said, “Your grace, I had a sword when I came here. I do not suppose that any sword has been found. It was Valyrian steel.”

The dragon queen cocked her head. “My men did find a Valyrian steel sword but it was attached to a hilt that had the sigil of the Boltons. I assume that was not it?” Brienne sighed and shook her head, despondent at the idea of her sword being gone for good.

“It might be hers,” Jaime said, his voice surprising both women. Brienne turned to him, as did Queen Daenerys. Jaime shuffled off the bed and found his cloak, which Tyrion had had delivered to their rooms. Jaime pulled out the hilt of Oathkeeper from one of the inside pockets. Brienne inhaled sharply at the sight of it. “The Bastard sent me this.” Brienne took two steps and took it from Jaime’s hands, studying every inch of it. It was her sword. What must Jaime have thought when he received this? Standing by his side, she allowed her right hand’s knuckles to brush against his fingers.

Daenerys nodded once. “Even if the Bastard’s sword was not once yours, it will be now. I’ll have a smith forge it anew, my lady.” Brienne smiled gratefully and, with some reluctance, handed the hilt to Queen Daenerys’ maid. “Can I do anything else for you, my lady?” 

Glancing at Jaime, Brienne shook her head. “I have everything I need here, your grace.” Daenerys’ eyes flashed at the sight of Jaime but she said nothing else, only inclining her head before leading the young handmaiden out with her. Brienne interlaced her fingers with Jaime, excitement at the idea of Oathkeeper being back in her hands buzzing inside of her.

XXX


	9. Chapter 9

Sansa sat in her solar, fidgeting with sheets of paper, reports on this and that, soldiers and food and accommodation, all things that she was interested in, things she had asked to have sent to her to ensure that Winterfell ran smoothly. They should be her priority, as Winterfell’s lady. Today, though, her mind was elsewhere.

She had not spoken to Tyrion all day, since she had run out of his room that morning. She had instructed the guards at her door to keep him away, to tell him she was busy. She was sure that he would not take offence, though he was without a doubt confused as to her behaviour that morning, especially since she had been so comfortable in his company the night before.

Sansa’s issue was that, as soon as she started worrying about one thing, everything came on top of her. She’d been this way since she was younger, though it had been exacerbated by actually having things to worry about, like Ramsay and Petyr Baelish’s continued existence and what Tyrion thought of her.

Sighing, Sansa looked out of the window. It had been dark for hours but she was trying to come up with more and more things to do, to delay going back to the chambers, alone. She could hardly go to Tyrion, not after last night. But her eyes were drooping now and none of the reports in front of her were essential. In fact, she had read most of them already.

She stood, making sure her desk was tidy. The guards at her door bobbed their heads at her as she left and then followed her to her chambers. They would remain at her door over night. Sansa was sure that would not stop Ramsay if he came. Her heart raced.

The chambers were impersonal, cold though the fire blazed. Sansa stripped down to her shift, her eyes darting between the window and the door. Every time she made too much noise, enough noise that she could not hear everything around her, she stilled and listened, desperate to know what was going on, whether Ramsay had arrived and killed her guards and was about to enter. Every crack was him approaching, every bang another death because of her, because of how much Ramsay wanted her.

Hands shaking, Sansa slid into her bed. The sheets were cold, the coverlet heavy, the expanse of bed to either side of her too large. She left a candle lit on either side of her, ignoring the memory of her septa telling her that candles should not be left burning at night. How else would she confront Ramsay? She hardly had a weapon to defend herself with. A candle would work well.

Eyes closed, Sansa did not know how much time had passed when, shaking, she sat up and searched the room for something. A book, sewing. Of course, nothing could be found. The few things she had were in Tyrion’s room, along with him. But that wasn’t an option. Sansa had ruined that.

She cursed herself for being so stupid. It had only been an erection. What did she expect? It had probably happened before but she hadn’t noticed it. It wasn’t personal. It was just a natural reaction to sleeping in a bed with a woman. She had been foolish, showed herself as a broken woman. Tyrion probably thought of her as the same little girl that he had married.

Sansa thought of the book that Tyrion had read to her the previous night. She wondered what was going to come next. She wondered if he had read it without her. She wondered if he had even thought of her or if he was sleeping like a baby, grateful that his annoying ex-wife had finally decided to go back to her own room.

Sure that he wasn’t so callous, Sansa turned over. She trusted Tyrion. She knew he would not hate her for what had happened that morning but she was too ashamed, too embarrassed to return to him. Groaning, Sansa suddenly sat up in bed. How long had she been lying here, with stupid thoughts going around in her head?

There was a solution to this and she was Sansa Stark, of Winterfell. The blood of kings, the blood of the First Men ran in her veins. She was brave and she knew herself. And, most of all, she knew what she needed.

The guards did not say anything when she slipped out, though she was sure they must have noticed that she was not wearing stockings and only a shift under her robe. She wondered if they were looking at her ankles. Swallowing that fear, she continued on, not looking back at them. Surely they would have more respect. Queen Daenerys had assured her that they were loyal and true, the Unsullied, though Sansa knew little more about them than that. Tyrion would know more. Perhaps she would ask him.

She knocked quietly on his door and then, a second time straight after, more confidently. It took a few moments but he arrived, his eyes slightly bleary and his lips in a grim line. He ignored the guards behind her and said, “Sansa,” in the sort of voice that made Sansa think he had been worried about her. The thought made Sansa feel warm inside.

“Can I come in?” Sansa asked, her throat burning. Tyrion nodded hurriedly. Sansa stepped in without a word from the guards, though Sansa was sure they had plenty of thoughts. Even loyal and true sellswords had thoughts. “I’m sorry,” she said, trying to keep her voice strong but the statement itself made her breakdown, her vision blur and a horrible choking sob emerge from the back of her throat.

“Oh, Sansa,” Tyrion said, approaching her. Sansa sank to the ground, squatting with her arms wrapped around her legs. Tyrion wrapped his arms around her side, pressing a soft kiss to her head. Sansa smiled.

“I’m sorry for this morning,” she said when her voice cleared enough for her to do so without her breaths making her sound hysterical.

Tyrion shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

Sansa snorted, wiping her nose on her wrist due to the lack of handkerchief. “It’s not your fault. I should have spoken to you instead of running away. You’ve- you’ve been so kind to me,” she finished tremulously.

“Sansa, you were my wife. I promise that I will always be kind to you, as a husband should.”

“But you’re not my husband,” Sansa said, falling back from her haunches to her arse on the floor. Tyrion only smiled and extended his hand.

“I know. Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

XXX

When Sansa next awoke, the morning light was bursting through the curtains of Tyrion’s chambers. Sansa’s least favourite part of winter was the low sun, constantly in her eyes, making them water as though she were crying. Tyrion was snoring next to her.

Curiously, Sansa peeked under the coverlet. She had not expected an erection yesterday morning. Today, she was ready and perhaps she would be less likely to panic if she saw it. And saw it she did. Flushing, she put the coverlet back down, patting it as though she were just forcing out some creases and not covering up the fact that she was getting a look at Tyrion’s erection.

Sansa rolled over to hide her face in her pillow. What would her parents think of her now? It was a dangerous route to go down so Sansa dismissed the thought. Her parents weren’t living her life, hadn’t seen what she had, didn’t know what it was like in her mind, so their opinion of what she was doing could hardly be taken into account.

Wishing she had a sister to talk to, Sansa turned back over and stared up at the canopy of the four-poster, a light grey, like the clouds before it rained. If she took control of the things that made her panic, she would not panic anymore. Yes, the thought of sex made her panic but being able to look at Tyrion’s erection was a start, towards the possibility of having sex again.

Admittedly, it was a daunting prospect and Sansa was not entirely sure that she would ever get all the way there. The thought reminded her of how much it had hurt, how humiliating every time had been, how unenjoyable. It was difficult to imagine that women enjoyed it, though she had heard that they did, somehow.

Sansa pulled herself out of bed, careful not to wake Tyrion. She peeped out of the door, where different guards had replaced the ones who had escorted her here the previous night. Trusting Queen Daenerys’ judgement that they were loyal and would not gossip about where she spent her nights, Sansa quickly requested that a bath be brought up. She would start this day fresh, with her new outlook that she would take control of her life, of the things that brought her fear. And a good way to control those things was to talk about them.

The bath arrived a while later and Sansa asked the maid to leave, though she offered to help her bathe. Sansa glanced at Tyrion, whose snoring had lessened, a sign that he was going to wake. She slipped behind the screen that the guards had moved by her command, so that she could bathe without Tyrion waking up to a naked woman. While she was quite sure Tyrion would not have minded, Sansa was not ready to be naked in front of a man, not yet.

Naked in the same room, however, she could cope with.

She slipped into the bath and groaned at the warmth. The maid had brought some bath salts and nice lotions that Sansa recognised as her mother’s. When she had been younger, her mother had sometimes let them use these things as a special treat. Even Arya had enjoyed the lotions that her mother ordered especially from the Reach.

“Sansa?” she heard some moments later. She simply hummed back to let him know that she was there. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she called though she did not have to raise her voice much for him to hear her. “I’m just having a bath.”

“A bath?” she heard him repeat, his voice rather weak. Sansa hummed back in answer again, scooping some of the rose-scented lotion from its bottle and rubbing it into her legs.

“Did you sleep well?” Sansa asked, almost moaning as her dry skin accepted the moisture. Her mother always complained about what the cold air did to her skin in comparison to the middling temperatures of the Riverlands.

“Y-yes,” Tyrion replied. Sansa furrowed her brow.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, quite well.” His voice was rather high-pitched. Perhaps he had cramps in his legs. Sansa remembered that they tended to plague him quite badly sometimes.

“Are you well? Are your legs cramping? You sound funny.”

“I’m fi- yes, you’re right,” Tyrion said, his words coming out in a rush. Sansa rubbed the lotion into her arms, wishing that her hands could reach her back. Perhaps in the future she would have someone to do it for her. The thought heated Sansa’s insides in a peculiar way. She shook off the uncomfortable sensation.

“Is there anything I can do?” Sansa asked Tyrion. She heard him bite back a moan and realised that he must be in quite a lot of pain.

“No, no,” he said, his voice still catching as he spoke. Sansa could tell he was trying to sound casual though he wasn’t. “I’ll just get dressed and go and see the maester.”

Sansa furrowed her brow. He had never needed to see the maester when they lived together in King’s Landing. Perhaps his legs had grown worse in the years that had passed. “Okay, Tyrion. I’ll see you for breakfast?”

“Mmhmm,” was Tyrion’s only reply. Sansa heard him wriggle out of bed. She tipped her head back with a sigh. She had not bathed the previous day and had missed the ritual. It was her favourite part of the day, lying in the bath, time to herself. When she heard Tyrion leave a few moments later, she continued with her lotion, worrying about how much pain he was in.

XXX

When she finally pulled herself from her luxurious bath, Sansa visited Brienne’s apartment that she had given her and which Brienne now shared with Jaime. She had not seen Brienne in a few days, though she knew that Queen Daenerys had visited her the previous day or the day before to offer her protection, an act of which Sansa fully approved.

Brienne answered the door, fully dressed though, from what Sansa could see, she had been sitting on her bed reading, while Jaime read beside her. Sansa found that somewhat odd. She had never imagined Jaime Lannister to be a reader. “Lady Sansa,” Brienne said and then bowed at the waist. Sansa smiled.

“I was wondering whether you would accompany me on a walk, my lady,” Sansa asked as brightly as she could. Brienne’s eyes lit up with panic and she looked back at Jaime, who nodded encouragingly at her. Sansa sensed reluctance in Brienne but she did not say anything. She was sure it could only be good for Brienne to breathe some fresh air and to be around other people than Jaime.

Sansa linked arms with the much taller woman as she led her out of the apartment, ignoring the look that Brienne gave at the door that Jaime closed behind them. “How are you feeling?” Sansa asked.

Brienne gave her half a smile. “Well, my lady. Ser Jaime and I have been doing training exercises.”

“And he is looking after you well?” Sansa noticed Brienne’s blotchy flush and let her own lips smile, privately wondering at what had passed between Brienne and Jaime. Surely if she had been subjected to what Sansa had then she would not be able to have sex yet. Or perhaps Sansa was odd in not being ready- not that Sansa truly had anyone to be ready for.

“Yes, my lady.”

Sansa shook herself. Brienne’s private life was none of her business and certainly not up for comparison with Sansa’s. Sansa did not truly know what Brienne had been subjected to and, therefore, she should not judge.

Sansa led Brienne out of Winterfell’s gates, always conscious of the two guards trailing them. There were soldiers everywhere. They discussed the dragon they passed and the many soldiers and how cold it was. When they reached the godswood, Sansa sat down on the spot where she had seen her father sit a thousand times and gestured for Brienne to take the spot next to her.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Sansa said hesitatingly, wondering whether Brienne was the best person to talk to about this. She shook herself. It wasn’t like she had anybody else to talk to. She was sure it would not be appropriate to talk to the Queen about it. “I had a sort of attack of panic yesterday morning.”

“A panic attack, my lady?”

Sansa nodded and swallowed. “It’s rather embarrassing, really, and I know that we don’t know each other completely but I thought it would be nice to have somebody that we could share things with. A girl,” she added and watched Brienne’s face soften.

“That would be nice,” Brienne said. When Sansa reached for Brienne’s hand and squeezed it, Brienne’s face lit up with surprise and she squeezed it back.

“I have been staying in Lord Tyrion’s rooms, just while I wait for Ramsay to be killed,” Sansa said, blushing at the impropriety of it, though she supposed that if anyone would understand it would be Brienne. She was staying in Ser Jaime’s rooms and Sansa did not consider that to be improper. “I woke yesterday morning and I panicked because of his-”

Brienne biting her lips to hold in her smile cut Sansa off becasue it forced on an attack of giggles. It was very silly, this whole situation. “I understand, my lady,” Brienne said, inclining her head.

“Call me Sansa, please,” Sansa said, widening her eyes. “If we are to be friends, then we have to call each other by our first names.”

Brienne nodded. “Very well. You should call me Brienne.” Sansa smiled.

“I just wanted- I don’t really know what I wanted to do or what I wanted you to say,” Sansa said, folding her hands in her lap. “I just- I wanted somebody that I could talk to. Tyrion is wonderful but he’s-” Again, Brienne nodded, understanding in her features. Sansa supposed that Jaime was the same.

“Ser Jaime and I, we shared our feelings,” Brienne said, her eyes on the ground. Sansa’s eyebrows shot up. She would have thought that she would be jealous but somehow all she felt was pleasure, that somebody else in her situation could move on enough to share their love. “But I can’t let him touch me. He touched my cheek and I couldn’t bear it.”

Sansa swallowed and nodded. “I understand,” she said, wanting to reach over and touch Brienne’s hand but feeling as though perhaps she shouldn’t. “You know, when he arrived, Ser Jaime,” Sansa said with sudden conviction. “I hated the sight of him. I wanted to get away from him. You’ll think me awful but I was so satisfied at the sight of his stump.” Brienne flinched. “And then he showed me your sword hilt and the letter that Ramsay had sent him and suddenly all I could think of was you and how I had not trusted you.”

“It’s not your fault, my- Sansa,” Brienne said patiently. Sansa shook her head. “It doesn’t matter any more, any of that. We can be each other’s friends now.”

Looking up into the homely woman’s eyes, Sansa smiled. She was right. She reached across and Brienne caught her hand halfway, holding it happily. “We can keep each other safe.” Brienne nodded firmly.

XXX

Brienne had returned not too long after Sansa had taken her. The fresh air had put colour back into her cheeks, making them red and blotchy. Jaime had smiled at the sight of her. She had looked almost exactly as she had the first time that he had seen her, though colder. Jaime had put her in front of the fire with a blanket and given her the book she was reading.

When Brienne had suggested that they read, Jaime realised that she knew nothing of his terrible reading ability, likely just assumed that he was normal. Thankfully, when he was holding his own book, she could not see how quickly or slowly he was reading and she seemed to enjoy the experience.

If Jaime was to be stuck in these chambers for the foreseeable, he supposed he’d have to get used to reading to fill the time, especially because, eventually, Brienne would want to go out and spar with other people. He knew that in a few weeks - perhaps less - she would be itching to spend the majority of her day outside.

Jaime rolled over. The thought wasn’t a pleasant one and he wanted to go to sleep and have pleasant dreams. He was rather fed up of his dreams of Brienne’s torture and unknown men hurting her. Last night, he had dreamed of the exact things she had described to him and it had been worse - so much worse - to see her pain and know it was real.

Jaime pulled himself to the side of the bed, sighing as he braced his hand on the edge of the mattress. Standing, Jaime found the water jug in the dark and poured himself some, sipping at it. It was freezing cold because they kept it by the window. Jaime’s lips stretched into a toothless smile. ‘They kept it by the window’ as though they lived together and that was one of the many things they did just as routine. Jaime wanted that. He wanted so much to be a normal couple.

A normal couple who lived together was normally married, of course. Glancing at Brienne, Jaime wondered what she would think to being married. He wouldn’t ask yet but he would one day. If she said no, then she said no and Jaime would cope. Perhaps they would cast off their titles and travel the realm as hedge knights, fighting for justice. The thought made Jaime smile.

He was still smiling an instant later, sipping from his goblet of water, when he heard Brienne moan. His eyes were on her immediately, his goblet on the windowsill before he’d even really realised what was happening. She cried out, no words, just noise. A noise of fear that made Jaime’s heart jump into his throat. Kneeling on the bed, Jaime braced himself on his stump as he leaned over and shook her shoulder with his one hand.

She woke almost immediately, crying out again by him being so close. Jaime retreated, hating the flash of fear in her eyes, hating that he couldn’t put his arms around her and make her feel better. Shoulders slumped and legs rearranged over the side of the bed, Jaime watched as she came too, breathing heavily and scrambling to sit up.

“Are you okay?” Jaime asked, his voice gravelly. He cleared his throat. She turned wide eyes upon him and let out a deep sigh, throwing her head back against the headboard, shaking it to either side. Jaime noticed tears slipping down her cheeks. Gods but he wanted to lean across and brush them away.

“I’m sorry,” she said and her voice was as deep and gravelly as Jaime’s. Jaime chuckled, a million things that he would have said once upon a time flitting through his mind.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Brienne,” he said earnestly. She pressed the pads of her thumbs to the corners of her eyes.

“I didn’t tell you,” Brienne said and her voice cracked. Jaime’s eyes immediately met hers. He could feel his worry in the furrow of his brow and in the way his heart raced in his chest. “I didn’t want to tell you.”

When she’d finished, adding onto the awful story she’d already told him, she had stopped crying and she was leaning back against the headboard. “Will you read to me?” she asked, nodding at the book that still sat on Jaime’s bedside table. Jaime hesitated but he couldn’t deny her anything - not after that. Squeezing his eyes to keep in the tears, he pcked up the book and nodded.

She didn’t comment on his faltering speech or the way he would correct himself halfway through a sentence or the way he would only realise he’d said the wrong word when he had finished a paragraph. It could not have been soothing for her. When they’d been young, Cersei had called Jaime stupid and corrected him immediately whenever he had got a word wrong.

Somehow, despite his subpar reading, Brienne fell back to sleep. When her gentle snores filled the room, Jaime folded the book and placed it back on his bedside table. He stood and brushed his left thigh of invisible dust. Only when he got to the window and placed his head against the cold glass did he allow himself to cry.

Brienne’s nightmare had been about an element of the torture that she hadn’t told him about, too ashamed to explain to him. Ramsay had taken her from the dungeons and stripped her naked before the dining hall. The first time he’d told them she was the Kingslayer’s Whore. He ordered her to walk in between the aisles that time and had soldiers to hit her when she didn’t.

The time after that, she’d been made to stand in the front of the room for the entire dinner and Ramsay would speak to her, talk to her about Sansa and about how she had failed. People had tormented her, as evil people did, and the words they’d used the most were “kingslayer’s whore”. Always the same.

Jaime remembered with a start that the prisoner next to him when Daenerys had had him chained had known who Brienne was immediately, had called her the kingslayer’s whore. He’d been too insane with worry to say anything at the time, to even consider what was being said. A heaving sob came from Jaime, the only sound the raw ripping it made at the back of his throat.

He regretted every moment he had wasted in between letting her leave and coming to find her. If only he had understood the way he had felt back then, he could have gone with her to find Sansa, could have kept them all safe. Maybe.

Closing his eyes against the tears, Jaime told himself that the past didn’t matter anymore, that they needed to concentrate on the future now, and he had to support Brienne through that.

XXX

When she woke in the morning, it was to an awake Jaime with a book in his hand. Brienne’s lips stretched slightly at the sight. She had had a relatively dreamless sleep after he had read her back to sleep, stumbling sweetly on the words. He noticed that she had woken when she shuffled back in the bed, arranging the pillows so that she could sit up comfortably. It was a very pleasant sight to wake up to and it reinforced the fact that she was not still in Ramsay’s dungeons.

“Good morning,” he said. Brienne didn’t think he had been awake for very long, his eyes low and his voice still in that attractive, half-asleep stage that Brienne quite liked on him. He smiled at her and put his book aside. Brienne briefly wondered whether he actually enjoyed reading or if he just did it to pass the time. Joy surged inside her when she realised that she had their entire lives to ask him.

“So, last night,” Jaime started. Brienne flinched. “No, I was thinking after last night,” he corrected and Brienne swallowed. “I was thinking that I love you and that I want to make you happy.”

Brienne smiled and looked away and then back to him. “That’s very nice, Jaime,” she replied, a bit confused. Jaime grinned and sat up fully.

“I don’t know what would make you happy and I worried about it for a while and then I remembered that I could just ask you. So, what would make you happy, wench?”

The invocation of his old nickname for her made her purse her lips but the whole sentiment of his line of questioning was so sweet that Brienne’s lips failed to hold in her smile. “What would make you happy?” Brienne countered. Jaime shook his head and nodded at her again. Brienne floundered, looking around the room as if for inspiration. “I don’t know what would make me happy, Jaime!”

Jaime leaned forward as if to touch her but then flinched away. Brienne winced. His happy tones softened. “Just think of what you want our future to look like. In a year, five years, a hundred years. What do you want us to be doing?”

Brienne’s heart sped up. She’d not thought of it. Ramsay would be dead and their lives would go on and Jaime had told her he loved her and she’d said she loved him - but she hadn’t actually said it and maybe she should? Maybe in a year the words would just spring from her lips. Maybe in five years she’d be able to turn to him in bed and say it as they woke up in the morning and she’d wake him with a kiss and his stupid face would still be as beautiful as it is now but he’d be starting to grey and -

“You’re grinning,” Jaime interrupted. Brienne made a swatting gesture at him. She wasn’t finished with their future yet.

\- they’d wake and it would be early because they would have responsibilities and they would go down to spar together and then oh! their children would join them. Brienne closed her eyes and she could see them. A little girl with blonde curls, a sword in her hand, and a little boy, grinning Jaime’s grin and fighting with his sister.

She opened her eyes and looked at Jaime. She wanted to kiss him. Hesitatingly, she raised her hand. It shook but it made its way to Jaime’s cheek anyway. There, she rubbed his cheek bone with the pad of her thumb. He was staring at her but not moving. She met his eyes and smiled ever so slightly, before leaning in and pressing her lips to his, just once, before pulling away and letting go of his face.

Jaime smiled at her. “I love you,” he said tenderly.

“I want to live, Jaime,” Brienne answered his original question. “I want us to live together and live as well as we can.” Jaime nodded encouragingly. He wanted her to continue and so, blushing slightly, Brienne told him what she saw.

And, when she’d finished, Jaime’s hand twitched upwards and hesitated so Brienne grabbed it and put it on her cheek. He smiled at her and she saw that his eyes were full of tears. She hoped she had allaied his worries from earlier. He leaned forward and then pulled back to meet her eyes, full of questions. Brienne nodded and he leaned in again, capturing her lips in a short, soft kiss.

“We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?” Jaime said and it was as though he was just realising it. It wasn’t a question at all. And, as he said it, Brienne realised that he was right and she nodded, biting her lip to keep in the tears that came so easily. They were going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those asking/wondering, Jon arrives in chapter 12, Gendry arrives in chapter 15 and Arya arrives in chapter 16!


	10. Chapter 10

“And I declare,” Daenerys said, looking around the room, her purple eyes glimmering. Her face was full of queenly pride. She wore robes trimmed with fur and her shoes made a powerful clicking sound every time she moved, the same that Sansa’s mother’s used to make. She was the picture of a queen and Sansa found herself happy that this woman would lead the continent and not someone selfish like Cersei or Robert. “And I declare,” Daenerys repeated, looking at Sansa, “that we shall not continue in our quest to rid Westeros of its tyrannical leader until we have brought the Bastard of Bolton to rights. Ramsay Bolton was a tyrannical power himself and we shall not rest until that wrong is made right.”

Sansa cheered along with the rest of the small council, many of whom banged their feet on the floor and clapped. The Dothraki leaders whooped and circled their arms in the air as though they were bearing whips. Sansa felt the joy in the room, felt the hope and expectations. Bringing Ramsay Bolton down would be the perfect way to show that Daenerys Targaryen brought blood and fire for those who had done wrong - and brought peace and security for those who had been wronged.

All of Sansa’s first opinions of Daenerys - that she was cold and unfeeling, full of pride and a need for power - were right. She could be cold and unfeeling to those she deemed a threat. She did have pride, but she had earned it. She had a need for power that any potential monarch required if they were willing to fight a war.

And Daenerys was so much more than that. She was kind to the weak, generous to those who had nothing and loving to those she cared for. This staying of her quest to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was just another example of all three.

Daenerys held up a few scrolls and nodded to the pile of them which remained on the table. “These are letters that we have written to the Northern lords, every single one, and to the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, to invite each one to come here and be a part of our ridding of the Lannister claim on the throne, to take the bastard from the throne and to protect the people of King’s Landing.”

Sansa cheered again, though a little less wholeheartedly. She had not realised that Daenerys was writing to Jon at the Wall and she knew that the queen would not receive what she wanted there. Jon was honourable like their father and, as the Commander of the Night’s Watch, he was not allowed to be involved in politics. He would never betray his oath and come to swear to Daenerys.

At the look on Tyrion’s face, Sansa thought that he might have told Daenerys that too but had been ignored. Sansa supposed that Daenerys did want to break the wheel. Perhaps involving the Night’s Watch was the way that she wanted to do that.

The meeting did not go on for much longer at all. Daenerys dismissed them all and ordered them to have a good night’s sleep, a joyful sparkle in her eye. Sansa smiled at the sentiment and met her queen’s eyes. They shared a friendly smile and Sansa left after inclining her head in respect. 

The night was dark and the air was bristling with cold. It was the wind blowing snow in all directions that reminded Sansa that it was nearly winter and that Winterfell needed to prepare. But that could wait until tomorrow.

Tonight, she could sleep and dream of happier things.

She reached Tyrion’s chambers before him and the guards allowed her entrance. Sansa didn’t like to think about what the guards must have thought of her, the Lady of Winterfell, spending every night with the Hand of the Queen. Though Sansa and Tyrion both knew that it was almost entirely innocent, the guards did not.

When Sansa entered, she found her nightdress folded neatly on the bed. The maids too would be gossiping about what went on in these chambers. Sansa found herself blushing at the thought. While Daenerys had ensured her that her Unsullied guards did not gossip, the maids of Winterfell most certainly did. Swallowing, Sansa shook her head and focussed on only getting changed in the candle light, behind the screen in case Tyrion arrived.

He had still not arrived when she was fully changed and basking in the heat of the fire. She scooped up her book from her bedside table - she and Tyrion always stayed on the same sides of the bed, so Sansa considered it to be hers - and opened it, but her mind was too distracted to read.

Sansa was not sure how many nights she had stayed in Tyrion’s bed but she thought that it must be influencing the way she felt. Sleeping in a bed with somebody was the surest way to catch feelings, of that Sansa was sure. The pulse she felt between her legs at the thought of Tyrion was just because of spending her nights with him, of the connotations of that, of seeing his erection.

It was not as though she wanted to feel this way, this racing of her heart when she saw him, this heat under her skin at the thought of going to bed and lying beside him. Even the thought of him reading to her seemed delightfully romantic. She did not want to feel this way about Tyrion, nor any man. When she had escaped from Ramsay, she had determined to never lie with a man again and lying with a man involved feelings, so Sansa supposed she had sworn those off too.

It was silly because it was not as though Tyrion wanted her that way either. She was fairly certain that he considered her to be his responsibility, someone that he needed to keep safe, perhaps a friend, but no more than that. Tyrion was used to the most beautiful women, women who were experts at sex and whose looks meant that it was their most highly valued skill. He was not used to women who panicked at the sight of an erection or who had been used so very often and painfully, who feared the very thought of sex.

And, even if he did - which he didn’t - and even if Sansa actually had feelings for him - which she really wasn’t sure about; she had not felt this way before about anybody and who knew what feelings really felt like anyway? - Sansa was too scared of Ramsay to ever do anything about it.

Although Sansa believed that Daenerys was strong and powerful and that she commanded far more powerful armies than Ramsay, Sansa also knew that Ramsay was sly and clever and always knew something that his enemies didn’t. She would never bet against him and, thus, she did not want to take the risk that Ramsay would return and use Tyrion against her, as he had the woman who had tried to save her life. Ramsay would hurt Tyrion just for the sake of hurting Sansa. And Sansa would not take that risk with Tyrion, when he was the only man in Westeros that Sansa trusted as much as she trusted herself.

The sound of the door going made Sansa’s eyes flick back down to her book and try to will away the blush that sprung up on her cheeks at the thought of her ponderings’ relation to the man who had just entered.

“Good evening, Sansa,” Tyrion said with a crooked smile. Sansa smiled in return, hoping that she did not look too guilty. “How is your book?”

Sansa had not even read a paragraph but she nodded and said, “very good. I’m enjoying it.”

Tyrion continued to speak about the book - as it was one of his - while he changed behind the screen. Sansa made noises at the right times when he was speaking but her mind was elsewhere, convincing herself that she did not like Tyrion, that he did not like her and that, even if both of those things were true, any sort of relationship was too much of a risk.

XXX

Brienne woke suddenly and had her hands flat against Jaime’s chest to push him away when she remembered where she was and who with, at the sight of light streaming in through the curtains. The dungeons had always been dark but this room was light. Sansa had told her that the second they had walked in, a bit awkwardly as though she hadn’t known what to say. Brienne assumed that she didn’t know how much her words had helped.

“Morning,” Jaime mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. Brienne could not hold back her smile at his drooping eyes and messy hair.

“Morning,” Brienne replied. There was a silence that Brienne wanted to break. “Did you sleep well?” she stuttered.

Jaime chuckled and sat up. “I slept very well, wench. And yourself?”

Brienne flushed. “Well, thank you.”

Jaime pushed the covers away from himself and sat up, reminding Brienne that he had slept in the only clothes he had, which, though he had washed his body, had not been cleaned and, quite frankly, smelled so strongly that Brienne felt fairly repulsed. Jaime saw the look on her face and laughed, looking down at his clothing. “I know. I hate it too. I don’t suppose you could speak to Lady Sansa about perhaps providing me with some fresh clothing as she has you?”

Brienne nodded, suppressing her smile. “I was thinking last night when I was trying to get to sleep that I might go and find somebody to spar with.” Jaime’s eyebrows raised and Brienne shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I just want to get the energy out of my system.”

Jaime practically pouted. “What?” Brienne laughed.

Jaime shrugged. “I just wish I could spar with you.” Brienne’s stomach squirmed. She wished that too and more than anything she wished that Jaime was free. Though, she supposed, then he wouldn’t be able to stay with her, or he may not choose to at any rate.

“I wish that too.”

“I don’t want you to spar with anyone else,” Jaime said. The words jolted Brienne and she furrowed her brow.

“What do you mean?” she asked, drawing away from him. She pushed the covers away from her and stood, very aware of the fact that she was only wearing a long shirt. The hairs on her legs stood up. “I’m going to go.”

She dressed as swiftly as possible, pulling out the screen to hide behind it as tears welled in her eyes. Perhaps she was overreacting. Sansa would know, she considered, remembering their oath to be each other’s sisters and support.

XXX

When she returned three hours later, full of the warmth of Sansa’s companionship and empty of the restless energy that she had woken up with due to an hour and a half’s sparring with some of the Northern soldiers who did not refuse to spar with her due to her gender, she found Jaime reading a book, his knee jittering and his eyes darting from the book to the window and back rapidly.

“What are you doing?” Brienne said, amused as she closed the door behind her and leaned her sword against the wall. Jaime looked up, letting the book fall to his knees.

“Hello,” he said and Brienne could hear the nerves in his voice. She felt a surge of guilt in her stomach at leaving him for so long after her panic. Perhaps she should have returned immediately after speaking with Sansa but she had wanted to get rid of the energy buzzing underneath her skin.

She approached him slowly and tentatively laid her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. Jaime shook his head.

“It’s my fault.”

Brienne swallowed. “I overreacted.” Jaime shook his head again and Brienne took her seat, the seat that had become her seat since they had shared the room. Before Jaime could speak she said, “I was scared - because if you don’t want anyone else to train with me, how are you going to cope with the fact that someone else has touched me before you?”

Jaime closed his eyes. Brienne’s throat was burning but she was proud of having completed her sentence without breaking down. She had had enough of crying and weakness. His eyes were still closed. Brienne pressed her thumb against her finger and then pulled it away. She repeated the process, her eyes flicking between Jaime and her fingers, unsure what to do.

When he finally opened his mossy eyes, Brienne braced herself for the rejection that she had experienced all of her life, trying to convince herself that this one would be no worse than the others.

“Do you want to be with me because Cersei touched me before you?” he asked quietly, his hand twitching as if he wanted to touch her. Brienne wanted him to touch her too, wished that her body wouldn’t reject him in fear. His words took a moment to really sink in.

She did not care that Cersei had touched Jaime, truly. She cared that she had hurt him mentally, had abused him. But the fact that they had slept together did not mar her opinion of Jaime. She worried her lip.

“That’s completely different.”

Jaime nodded, surprising Brienne by his easy acceptance of her opinion. “You’re right. It is completely different because I chose to be touched by someone else and you did not.”

Brienne closed her eyes, forced by remembering what was done to her, the awful injustice of it. Tears welled up in the back of her eyes and she did not want to let them out. She had already cried with Sansa that morning.

“Brienne,” Jaime sighed. Flinching, Brienne became annoyed that she had not noticed his approach but he was now kneeling in front of her. Her hand twitched as it approached his face, her mind fighting her body to touch him.

His face was stubblier than she expected. It didn’t look so bristly. She quite enjoyed the feeling. “I want to train with you,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I want to touch you too.” Jaime smiled and Brienne, staring at his lips, felt a sudden urge to be closer to him.

Pressing their lips together softly felt like too much and then like it wasn’t enough at all. She closed her eyes and thought only of Jaime, of his chapped lips and of his stubbly chin. When she pulled away, her hand still cupping his cheek, he was smiling. Brienne couldn’t help but smile too.

XXX

“Very well,” Daenerys said, nodding at her scribe to write down the information that Sansa had shared. Sansa let out a sigh of relief at Daenerys’ easy acceptance that Lord Baelish was too difficult of a man to trust and should not, therefore, be an ally that they were too eager to recruit. “You know many of the lords and ladies better than I, Lady Sansa. Who do you believe we should ally with?”

Sansa had her answer prepared. The thought had come to her just hours before and she had cursed herself for not thinking of it earlier. When considering where Theon was, and all he had done to help her, she remembered the power that Theon’s family held and the possibility that they had yet to choose a side in the war.

“Yara Greyjoy has rewon the Iron Islands. She controls a large naval force which can easily fight on land. Her power was dismissed because she was a female. I think she will support you based on you being a woman alone, especially if you swear to support her right to rule the Iron Islands. Her uncle Euron still believes that he has the right to the Seastone Chair despite the lords now supporting Yara and he is betrothed to Cersei, so she has no reason to support her against you.”

The expressions on Daenerys’ face convinced Sansa that her spiel was appreciated and understood. “She sounds like a most agreeable ally and I cherish your advice. Will you aid me in writing a letter to her?”

When the letter was written and acceptable to the two of them and also Tyrion who had interrupted them and then left with the letter, claiming to want a walk, Sansa relaxed in Daenerys’ solar with a glass of the best wine that Winterfall had remaining after Ramsay, and Daenerys herself, who was happier and more relaxed than Sansa had seen in a long time.

“So, you had four brothers and a sister?” Daenerys said, turning her eyes from the soldiers training outside back to Sansa, who nodded over her wine goblet. 

“My brother Robb was the bravest man I knew, after my father,” Sansa said, “and the rest of them are still out there. I trust that I will see them again one day.”

Daenerys smiled. “Were you close as children? My brother and I always had an odd relationship but I did adore him.”

Sansa smiled. “They were all very close. I was a bit of an odd one out. My sister liked to be with the boys and the boys liked to play rough. I spent a lot of time sewing with my friend, preparing to be a princess and pretending that Rickon was my baby prince."

"I'm sure they loved you even so," Daenerys said softly with a comforting smile. Sansa nodded, raising her eyebrows so that her queen could see her sincerity.

"I know that they did. Our family was built on love." Sansa thought of the way she had treated Jon and Arya. The regret was clearly plain upon her face because Daenerys' turned quizzical. "My sister and I weren't very close but the last time we saw each other we were arguing. I know that she is still alive somewhere but I worry that if I never see her again, that will always be her final memory of me." Daenerys was about to speak but Sansa didn't let her. "And, worse than that, my half-brother-"

"- the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch?" Sansa nodded quickly, remembering the letter that Daenerys had written him.

"Yes - Jon. He - my mother didn't like him. She hated that he was a reminder of my father's - affair, I suppose. I wanted to be a lady just like my mother so I treated him the same and, now, I'm not sure if he'll ever forgive me, or if he's okay, and I really want to apologise to him. Before you and Tyrion saved me, I was trying to get to the Wall and Jon and just trusting that he would save me, despite all I've done to him."

Daenerys reached for her hand, surprising Sansa, who looked up at the sudden touch. "Brothers are complicated. My brother sold me to a man who raped me and I managed to forgive him, though my husband did not. I find it very unlikely that he would do anything but hold you as his sister."

Sansa smiled at the idea. "Perhaps, one day, when we are at peace, I'll go to the Wall and see."

Daenerys smiled and squeezed her hand. "Perhaps I will come with you. I am not sure the last time a monarch visited the Wall."

"I'm sure you and Jon would get on very well," Sansa said, pleased by the prospect. Daenerys gave her a beaming smile.


	11. Chapter 11

Sansa’s boring paperwork was interrupted by a guard whom she recognised as one of Daenerys’ frequent companions. He spoke with a strong Essosi accent and rarely smiled. “Lady Sansa, there is a woman with a boy asking for you at the gates. They say they know you. My queen asks for your presence.”

Tidying the papers on her desk to pretend she had been reading them for the past twenty minutes rather than thinking about going to bed tonight, Sansa inclined her head and stood, brushing down the front of her grey skirt. It had been her mother’s, as most of the clothes she now wore had been. Ramsay had not emptied the wardrobes of Winterfell, thankfully. The smell of her mother reminded Sansa that this Winterfell, this Ramsay-less Winterfell, was home and she belonged here.

Sansa followed Torgo Nudho. Tyrion had informed Sansa that the guard’s name meant ‘grey worm’ but Sansa struggled to call him that. Such a disparaging name reminded her of the names that Ramsay gave the men he did not like, so she called him Torgo Nudho, like Queen Daenerys did, and she felt as though she was not insulting him.

Torgo Nudho held the door back, straight-backed, to allow her to pass onto the ramparts of Winterfell. The cold wind hit Sansa in the face, making her eyes suddenly water. She paused for a moment, waiting for Torgo Nudho to catch up with her after closing the door. Looking down into the courtyard of Winterfell, she saw the queen and smiled. She was speaking with a short woman with dark hair and a young boy. Sansa furrowed her brow. Were these the people who had demanded her presence?

Sansa continued, reaching the stairs. She could hear some of the woman’s speech. She was certainly not a noble. She sounded as though she had spent half her life living in a brothel or a slum. Swallowing, Sansa’s mind whirred, wondering if this was some trick from Ramsay.

But then she started listening to what she was saying, as she came to the bottom of the stairs. She heard a name that she had not heard for months. Rickon. Rickon.

Sansa blinked rapidly, suddenly speeding up her steps. She was talking about Rickon - perhaps she knew where he was, that he was alive - or perhaps, perhaps, the boy beside the woman was Rickon.

Daenerys was shaking his hand. She was shaking the boy’s hand and the boy was bowing his head and who was he? Who was he? Sansa was close now. She could see him more clearly now, could see his ginger hair. Robb had had ginger hair. Oh, Gods, she missed her brothers.

“Rickon,” Sansa said aloud, willing to face the embarrassment if it was not him. He looked up; the woman looked up too. His blue eyes shone. He was the picture of their mother. There was almost none of their father in him. Tears welled in Sansa’s throat. “Rickon, oh Rickon,” she said and the tears were creeping into her voice.

“Sansa?” Rickon said and he stepped away from the woman. She saw him more clearly, saw that he was older. Oh, by the Seven, he was so much older than the baby that she had said goodbye to. “Sansa!” he suddenly cried, perhaps realising who it was he was looking at. “Sansa,” he repeated and Sansa was glad that he was crying because soon she was too.

And then he was in her arms, her baby brother, in her arms. He was shorter than her, still, of course. It would be a few years before he was taller than her and she would see them all. Her hand was in his hair, holding him to her shoulder. Her brother. Her baby brother had returned to Winterfell. They would find Arya and Bran and Jon and they would be a family again. They would mourn for Robb and their parents and their goodsister but they would be a family. Theon would come back too. It would be just as it had been.

“I’ll leave you,” Queen Daenerys said, laying a small hand on Sansa’s shoulder. Sansa nodded at her in thanks, feeling tears start to drip off her chin.

“Who is this, Rickon?” Sansa asked, nodding at the woman, though she did not let go of him. Rickon pulled away from her and Sansa brushed tears from his face.

“This is Osha,” Rickon said, pushing away her soft hand and wiping his face with the heels of his palms. “She looked after me. She got us out of Winterfell, away from Theon.”

Sansa’s heart shifted slightly at the thought of Theon and what he did before he saved her. He did a terrible thing but he had come back to them, remembered that he was more Stark than Greyjoy. There was no point bringing it up now, though. They had only just been reunited and Sansa did not want to argue with her brother. “Where have you been?” she asked, glancing at Rickon and then at Osha.

“With the Umbers,” Rickon said.

“A delegation came with us,” Osha said and Sansa met her eyes when she widened them. “We were expecting to find Lord Bolton here.”

Sansa understood immediately. The Umbers had not brought Rickon here to be reunited with his sister. They had brought him here to curry favour with Ramsay. Rage burned inside of Sansa. “Lord Umber is here?”

“He is, my lady,” Osha said deferentially. Sansa set her jaw.

“Let’s find you a room, Rickon, and you too, Osha. I promise you will have every comfort.” Sansa knew which rooms were free, had looked over the plans of Winterfell just the previous day. There were two rooms, next to each other, looking over the mountains, which would suit Rickon and Osha just nicely.

“My lady,” Osha said quietly as Rickon ran up the stairs onto Winterfell’s ramparts. Sansa side-glanced at the woman who had kept Rickon safe. “Have you heard from Bran? He went above the wall when I took Rickon to the Umbers. He was with Hodor and the Reed children.”

Sansa swallowed this news. She had no idea where Bran was, had not had any news of him at all until now. She shook her head, glancing at Rickon who was ahead of them, his head shooting from side to side as he took in Winterfell’s walls again. “I have hope that he is alive.”

Osha nodded but Sansa saw that she was not convinced. “It is dangerous above the Wall, my lady.”

“Perhaps he will find our half-brother who is Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.” Osha looked curiously at Sansa. “What is it?” Osha shook her head slightly. “Please tell me.”

“My lady, we had heard that the Lord Commander was dead.”

Sansa’s heart fell into her stomach. She refused to believe that that was true. Surely she would not be denied a reunion with Jon, the chance to say that she was sorry for the way that she had copied her mother in their treatment of him.

She shook her head vehemently. “There must have been some mix up. Jon cannot be dead.”

“As you say, my lady,” Osha said dubiously.

XXX

Sansa spoke to Tyrion in their rooms that evening, before dinner. He had been outside of Winterfell all day, speaking with some of the villagers, taking food to starving people, showing the Northerners that the hand of the queen, and by extension the queen, truly cared for them. Sansa had been bubbling with excitement about Rickon coming home. She had been desperate for him to be there all day.

Daenerys had stripped the Umbers of their title and land when Lord Umber confessed to his actions. Upon Sansa’s suggestion, the title and land were given to a distant relation, who they summoned immediately. The Smalljon was led out of Winterfell and given a purse but nothing more. He was asked to never return and Daenerys asked the rest of the delegation from the Last Hearth to spread the news of what the Smalljon had done and to faithfully represent the interests of their new lord.

It had been very well done, reminding Sansa of Daenerys’ skills in dealing with nobles. When they finished, Daenerys stood first, followed by Sansa, and they all trailed out of the great hall. Sansa formally thanked Daenerys for helping her in this matter and then asked her where she might find the hand of the queen. Ignoring the funny look Daenerys gave her, Sansa listened to Daenerys explaining where Tyrion was and then left to find her brother and spend the afternoon with him and Osha.

And, now, finally, Tyrion had returned. And she could tell him about her day.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed in a long grey dress with gauzy material over the top and some gems dotted about. It had been in fashion over ten years ago, when her mother had had it made, and Sansa liked it enough to wear it now. Tyrion entered the room right in front of her and Sansa felt happiness bloom inside her when he smiled upon sight of her.

“My lady,” Tyrion said, bowing his head. Sansa beamed.

“My lord, I’ve been wanting to speak with you all day.”

Tyrion furrowed his brow and closed the door behind him. “What is it, Sansa?”

“My brother, Rickon, he arrived at Winterfell today!”

And Tyrion smiled as much as Sansa had hoped he would, his eyes lighting up as he did. Sansa loved that he cared as much for what happened with her family as she did. He was a good man. “I am very pleased, Sansa. I would love to meet him. He would have only been a babe the last time I saw him.”

“That was also the last time I saw him, Tyrion,” Sansa said, raising her eyebrows. She enjoyed the admonished look on Tyrion’s face. “Now, are you changing for dinner? I am hungry.”

Tyrion walked over to his chest of clothes, glancing back at her. “You can go down without me, Sansa.”

Sansa shook her head. “I like going down to dinner with you.” She met his eyes and smiled. Not even the lie about Jon’s death could get Sansa down. She wasn’t even going to tell Tyrion about it. Perhaps tomorrow she would and he could tell her that it was definitely wrong. But it wasn’t worth bringing up now. “Did you have a nice day?” she asked him. “I was thinking that I would like to come with you next time.”

Tyrion nodded as he slipped behind the screen. “I would love that, Sansa. As soon as Ramsay is dead, we could do a further trip too, to visit some more of your Northern underlings.” Sansa could hear the joke in his voice and she laughed, hoping that he loved amusing her as much as she loved being amused by him.

“Yes, we should go to the Last Hearth.” And Sansa explained all about the Umbers and their plot to bring Rickon to Ramsay. Tyrion stepped out from behind the screen, fully dressed but a grave look on his face. His necktie was askew. Sansa chuckled and approached him, kneeling down in front of him to fix his tie and make it straight.

“A visit to the Last Hearth would indeed be well-advised,” Tyrion said and Sansa looked into his eyes and nodded. It was funny that one was one colour and one was another. Sansa thought it made him look interesting. Finishing with his tie, Sansa grinned and stood up. “I do love it when you smile, you know, Sansa.”

Tyrion’s words were so earnest that Sansa wanted to kiss him. She swallowed and picked up her shawl from the bed. Biting her lip, she said, “Shall we go down?”

Tyrion took her hand, kissed it and didn’t let go. They walked down to dinner, hand in hand, not caring that it might have looked awkward or uncomfortable. Sansa felt neither of those things, not around Tyrion.

XXX

Brienne awoke slowly. It was the first time in a while that she had not awoken with a start, with a shout as her nightmare rescinded. She had not dreamed at all last night, not that she could remember anyhow. She was glad to have had this dreamless sleep. She did not need to dream good things, because she got to wake up to Jaime every morning, but it was very nice to not dream horrible things.

Speaking of Jaime, Brienne looked over to him. He snored, ever so slightly. Brienne found it quite cute. It was peaceful, like the gentle lapping of waves on Tarth’s shores. Like that sound, it reminded Brienne of home. Jaime was home now, literally locked in with her every day. Brienne wondered whether Queen Daenerys would let him be locked in with her in a room in Tarth.

Most women would have loved to have Jaime Lannister locked in a room with them for different reasons to Brienne. She loved it because he made her laugh and smile and he made her feel safe. Other women might have enjoyed the fact that they could lie with him as often as they liked. Brienne was very aware that Jaime was seen as a very attractive man by most of the population of Westeros. They were not wrong.

It was not that Brienne did not want to lie with Jaime. It was that it was a very scary prospect. Kissing him a few days ago had been a lot, had felt like quite a big step. It was a good step, a step in the right direction, if the right direction was a physical relationship.

That was what Brienne wanted. She thought that that was what Jaime wanted. He had told her that he loved her. He had told her that he wanted her to fight with no one else, though he was coming around to it, every time she left to spar. Brienne had seen this look in his eyes when she had returned only yesterday, sweaty and tired, a sort of dark-eyed look that had sent sparks flying in Brienne’s body. She had had a tepid bath to cool herself down.

She had liked kissing him but she was scared that one time she would do it and remember the forced kisses, the humiliation, the fingers that men had put inside her. Bile rose in Brienne’s throat at the memory.

It had been awful but it was over. It was over and Jaime had come to save her and he was saving her, every day. And she was so grateful. Every time he made her laugh or smile, she remembered what an excellent man he was, remembered what he had done for King’s Landing. She looked over at him, pulling herself up onto one elbow. How he loved her was absurd. She could not believe that this man, this good and handsome and funny man loved her for who she was.

But that did seem to be the case. Brienne smiled as hope took flight in her stomach. It was a wonderful feeling, Jaime’s love. She wished she could reciprocate all his goodness. She wondered if she would ever be able to make him feel as wonderful as he made her feel.

She had an idea of how she could try.

Biting her lip, she bent down and pressed a short kiss to Jaime’s pouty lips, enjoying how soft and smooth they were. His stubble was more of a beard at this point. Nothing had been sent to their chambers for Jaime to shave, but Brienne didn’t have a problem with that. She thought a beard made him look distinguished. The first time she had seen him - in fact, the first months she had known him - he had been bearded. The man she fell in love with had a beard.

She kissed him again, only softly, and then pulled away. Joy burst in her chest. She could kiss Jaime as much as she wanted to. She’d kissed him four more times when he finally moaned awake. “Brienne,” he moaned, his eyes flickering open in confusion. Brienne suddenly ducked her face. Surely, no one wanted to wake up to her face.

Jaime’s hand on her cheek made her look up again. “Good morning,” he said before kissing her. Surprised, Brienne flinched away. She hated the look of hurt she saw in Jaime’s eyes and shook herself.

“Sorry,” she apologised and, just as Jaime opened his mouth to say something - probably to tell her not to apologise - she covered his mouth again in a kiss. He didn’t push back and Brienne pulled away, frustrated. She wished Jaime could read her mind. It would be far simpler. “Kiss me back,” she demanded and, chuckling, Jaime did as she asked.

When, a few minutes, hours or days later, they pulled away again, Brienne said, “I want you to be able to touch me whenever you want to.”

Jaime smiled, his stupid beautiful Lannister face golden with happiness. “I don’t care if I have to wait for you to say yes for the rest of my life. I want you to be comfortable. I want you to feel safe with me.” Brienne didn’t know what to say. She thought she was used to Jaime being soft and lovely with his words, after the past few weeks, but she wasn’t. They still got her choked up. Just to prove that he was still snarky Jaime, he said, “and I quite like you telling me what to do.”

Remembering her demands, Brienne flushed. Jaime grinned, met her eyes and then kissed her again, his hand in her hair. If she had to, she would tell him that he could do this every day of their lives. That sense of control did make her feel secure. And Jaime had done that. Yet again, this man had helped her to feel like herself.

XXX

“So, you and the little fellow are together, my lady?” Osha commented, watching Tyrion and Rickon playing with the snow outside. They stood together on the ramparts, looking down. The fresh coating of snow that morning meant that Rickon had excitedly knocked on Sansa’s door that morning. Sansa had thought that Rickon’s disturbance would annoy Tyrion, who enjoyed his sleep, but Tyrion had proved her wrong and had offered to build a snowman with Rickon - provided Sansa’s brother did the parts that Tyrion could not reach.

Sansa had struggled to not kiss him, just as she had felt last night.

“We’re not together,” Sansa stammered, flushing at the thought. Hopefully, Osha would blame Sansa’s blush on the cold rather than the thought of being with Tyrion.

“But you spend every night together?” Sansa nodded. She was unashamed of needing Tyrion’s help to see her through the nights and it worked well for both of them. “That’s all it takes for us wildlings.”

Sansa swallowed. “What do you mean?”

Osha shrugged. “Once a woman moves into a man’s tent, they’re together, like marrying them like you do here. Unless you’re a spearwife. Then a man has to steal a woman.”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “Steal them?”

Osha nodded as though she were not speaking about the theft of a woman, a human being. “The spear wives won’t marry no man who isn’t strong enough to steal them. The man has to break into the woman’s tent and best her in a fight before she’ll lie with him.”

Sansa chuckled. It was so unlike their culture, the wildling culture. She found it quite freeing, though she was unsure she wanted to live in it herself. “Were you ever stolen?” Sansa asked curiously.

Osha snorted. “Men tried. I was never interested.” Sansa hummed. “You should talk to the little man.”

Blinking, Sansa said, “about what?”

Osha gave her a look that made Sansa feel like a child. She nodded down at Tyrion and Rickon. “About the fact that you look at him like he put the moon in the sky and he looks at you like you built the Wall.”

Sansa laughed at Osha’s comparisons but Osha did not laugh. Sobering, Sansa looked at Tyrion again, wide-eyed. Perhaps she could speak to him. Perhaps it wasn’t the oddest idea.

Perhaps she could make them both happy.

XXX

Dinner dragged on that evening. Sansa had spent all day thinking of how she would tell Tyrion how she felt. She thought all day on how she felt, of these feelings that had surprised her, of the desperate urge to kiss him all the time.

When the queen finally rose, allowing them to leave too, Sansa exhaled in relief. She had thought they would never leave and the urge to tell Tyrion was biting her skin. A few times, she had nearly leaned across the queen to tell him and likely be mocked by the whole of Winterfell. She had restrained herself thankfully. This was a private matter and she didn’t want to remember it as an embarrassment.

She also didn’t want to be rejected. She didn’t want anything to hold Tyrion back from saying yes.

Sansa’s hands shook all the way to their chambers. “Sansa, what is the matter?” Tyrion asked exasperatedly. “You’ve been acting oddly all day. Is this about Ramsay?”

Sansa had actually hardly thought about Ramsay all day. She shook her head and passed the guards who stood outside their chambers. Tyrion followed her in. “Has something happened? Something with Rickon? Or about Jon?”

Sansa had shared her worries about Jon with Tyrion that morning and he had allayed her worries with common sense - surely Winterfell would have heard of the death of the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Sansa knew he was right. She’d hardly thought on it since.

“No, Tyrion,” Sansa sighed. She bit her lip. “Will you sit down?” she said, sitting down on the bed herself and patting the space next to her. Tyrion furrowed his brow at her, halfway through untying his necktie, but came to sit by her without protest.

Sansa took over untying his tie. “Do you know about the wildling concept of stealing spearwives?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound too intense when she said it. She didn’t look him in the eyes, couldn’t.

“Yes,” Tyrion said warily. “Have you been talking to Osha?” Sansa nodded. “I thought you looked in deep conversation earlier. Are you worried about something?”

Sansa chuckled, releasing Tyrion’s tie. She shook her head and finally looked at Tyrion. “No, Tyrion. I’m not worried. I’ve not been worried for awhile. Not about this anyway.”

“About what?” Tyrion said and he genuinely sound as though he had no clue what she was talking about. 

Giggling, Sansa said, “this,” and kissed him.


	12. Chapter 12

“And I was thinking that we can turn that space under there where the archery boards are kept into more storage,” Sansa said, gesturing over at a large amount of space that, in Sansa’s opinion, was wasted with archery practise boards.

“And where will the archers practise?” Tyrion asked seriously. It was very helpful taking Tyrion around Winterfell, showing him the things that she wanted to change and hearing the problems that she would face if she did them. It was teaching her so much about running a castle, the practicalities that her mother would have taught her when she married. Mothers often accompanied girls for the first year of their marriage, if they were going to a new home.

Of course Sansa would never have that.

“I thought of creating a space outside the walls. That way the distance between archer and target would be greater, increasing the skill of our archers and also making sure that the courtyard is free and safe at all times.”

Tyrion inclined her head and Sansa felt a burst of pride inside of her. She was getting it right. She was doing it right. There were times where she felt that Queen Daenerys had made the wrong decision making her the Lady of Winterfell. There was no way that she could follow in her mother’s footsteps, but, times like this, where she was reassured that she was making the right decisions, made her feel as though she could do what her mother did.

Especially now that she had Tyrion by her side.

Tyrion had been shocked by her kiss. But he had initiated the second and the third and the fourth, until they were both sleepy and still hadn’t changed clothes. Though they hadn’t spoken really, Sansa felt very comfortable in how they felt about each other. Throughout their short morning tour of Winterfell, he had shot her many heated looks, that had made Sansa feel attractive, feel far less like a scared little girl.

“What else have you got on today, my lord?” Sansa asked, looking down at him. He smiled up at her, in that way that promised something else. They turned from where Sansa wanted to change the archery training area into storage and made their way back to the stairs, back into the warmth of Winterfell’s walls. Sansa sniffed and furrowed her brow, wondering what she was smelling. It jolted her back to Ramsay for a moment in a way that only smells could.

“I have a meeting with the queen. And you, my dear?” he asked. Sansa smiled and opened her mouth to speak when she smelled that smell again. She froze. Was she smelling Ramsay? “Sansa?” Tyrion said but Sansa hardly heard him. Her feet were moving before she consciously told them to, towards the space beneath the stairs.

When she was younger, she had always been fearful of going beneath the stairs. Her brothers had tricked her into believing nobody went under there because the stairs would collapse if they did. She had been young and stupid and it was only years later that she realised that it was an obvious lie. When she reached the space beneath, she wished she’d stayed away.

Drops of blood were scattered on the white carpet, like rain breaking up snow. Sansa felt bile rise in her throat. The smell was stronger here but it was not Ramsay. It was related to Ramsay because it was blood. The only time Sansa had smelled blood so strongly was when she had been his wife.

“No,” she whispered. She could hear Tyrion speaking behind her but couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. The darkness was clearing as her eyes adjusted but she could hardly see a thing, not even the droplets of blood that she was sure were still beneath her feet.

Only when she got close and crouched on the ground did she realise what she was looking at, what godsforsaken thing she had found. The scream that came from her mouth took her straight back to Ramsay’s bed, to Ramsay’s dungeons, to fleeing.

Lying on the ground before her was Osha, her throat slashed and her eyes open, unseeing.

XXX

Sansa had left before Tyrion, though he still felt as though he were abandoning her. She had gone to Brienne and then she was going to see her brother to tell him what had happened to Osha. Tyrion sighed as he reached the queen’s solar. Osha’s death was a waste of life. She had been a good woman, who had protected Sansa’s brother. And now she was dead.

And that meant there was a killer in Winterfell.

It was item number one on Tyrion’s list of things to discuss with Daenerys.

Grey Worm let him in, back as straight as ever. Tyrion nodded at him in thanks and found that he was the last of Daenerys’ advisors to arrive. “I’m sorry for being late,” he said, taking his seat. “I’m afraid there has been a bit of an incident.”

Tyrion watched Daenerys’ eyes widen, the purple becoming more intense. “What happened?”

“Osha, the wildling woman who brought Rickon Stark to us, has been murdered. San- Lady Sansa found her beneath the ramparts.”

Daenerys’ eyes sank to the table. Varys gasped with a hand to his chest and Jorah Mormont spoke, “How is Lady Sansa?”

Tyrion appreciated the man’s compassion. He gave Mormont a smile and nodded. “She has gone to see Lady Brienne and then to speak with her brother. Rickon is going to be heartbroken.”

“Do you have a theory?” Varys asked.

Tyrion shook his head. “We were hoping that you would have some little birds around that would have seen anything. Of course, our first thought was Ramsay.”

“We, our,” Varys said, raising his eyebrows. “You and Lady Sansa are quite the team, Lord Tyrion.”

Tyrion ignored that comment, though he did see some agreement in Daenerys’ eyes. He felt seeds of doubt in his stomach. If they already thought they spent too much time together, then he wondered how they would feel about their - their whatever - their relationship that was currently built on a night of kissing. That was a hurdle for another day. “I believe that we should have a large burial celebration for Osha, to show that we are great allies with the Starks, to show the Northern lords that they are very important to us.”

Daenerys inclined her head. “Good idea. I will discuss it with Lady Sansa when I see her this afternoon.”

Tyrion wondered whether Sansa would be able to meet with the queen that afternoon, whether she would be able to leave her brother. She would be able to deal with the situation herself, though, if she could not. Tyrion did not need to fight all her battles, as much as he wanted to, as much as he wanted to shield her from every piece of pain that he could.

“We were just discussing potential allies in the south,” Daenerys said. Tyrion raised an eyebrow for her to continue. “I want to appoint a new Lord Paramount of the Westerlands.”

Tyrion nodded. “The position is currently held by my cousin, who I am sure could be convinced to ally with you.”

Daenerys shook her head. “I don’t want him to be convinced. If he isn’t ready to abandon Cersei now, I don’t want him.” Tyrion frowned.

“With all due respect, your grace, he will barely know that you have landed. News of the release of Winterfell will be new to his ears. It may be the first time that he fully understands that you are a viable candidate for the throne, that you are going to fight for it. If that is the case, he may already be thinking of allying with you.”

Daenerys pursed her lips as she considered what Tyrion had said. Varys was nodding alongside her, which Tyrion appreciated. “And if he does not want to ally with me, who would you want to install in the seat that is rightfully yours?”

Tyrion swallowed. “Your grace, the seat is rightfully Jaime’s-”

“Your brother killed his king, fucked his sister while she was married to the next king and abandoned the final king - his son born out of incestuous adultery - and his vows.”

“Tommen released Jaime from his vows before-”

Tyrion wished he’d not spoken. Daenerys’ eyes were like fire. “Do you truly expect me to ever trust your brother, the man who killed my father?”

“I do not expect that you will ever be able to trust any of your lords, your grace-”

“Not even you?”

Tyrion sighed. “Your grace, what I mean to say, is that good monarchs don’t trust. Robert trusted Cersei and she killed him.”

“My father trusted your brother and your brother killed him. Is that what I am to expect too?”

Tyrion shook his head. “I understand why you do not trust Jaime. I thank you greatly for the mercy you have bestowed upon him thus far and so does the Lady Brienne. His situation here is temporary but I am sure that he is going to show you that he is trustworthy. He rode away from my sister to save a woman’s life and is here now, not breaking the terms of his agreement with you.”

“It will take longer than a few weeks in house arrest for me to trust a man who murdered his king.”

“You will never earn that trust unless you speak with him, your grace.”

Daenerys’ eyes narrowed. Tyrion wondered whether he had gone too far. He wondered what Sansa would do if she ordered his head chopped off. Just as he thought about hurriedly writing her a note, Daenerys’ face relaxed.

“You are right. I will speak to him and I will find out what makes a man kill a king. By the time we leave Winterfell, I want to have decided what I will do with him, but he will never be Lord Paramount of the Westerlands.”

Tyrion bowed his head and nodded. “Yes, your grace.”

“Perhaps it is time for the Lannisters to move on and a new family to lead the Westerlands.”

“Perhaps it is,” Tyrion agreed.

XXX

Jon rode the final stretch to Winterfell hard. He had been sensible the past few days, riding as far and as long as he could before stopping, but always stopping to sleep and to eat and to feed his horse. He knew that not doing so would burn him out sooner and it would take far longer to get to Sansa that way.

But now that Winterfell, that daunting castle that had been his childhood home, was on the horizon, Jon rode as though it were water and he had not drunk in days. Sansa was there and she needed him.

When the news had arrived at the Wall that Daenerys Targaryen had stormed Winterfell, battled Ramsay Bolton and instated Sansa Stark as Lady of Winterfell, Jon had been dead. When he had awoken, arisen, breathed again, he had heard the news and left immediately, Ser Davos Seaworth and Tormund Giantsbane hot on his heels.

Even now, they kept pace with him, as did Ghost who ran alongside them. Three loyal friends. Tormund’s men, the wildlings, were helping run the Wall now, manning the castles against the threat of the dead. Though they were not as efficient nor as obedient, they were strong fighters and that was all that the Wall needed now. All that mattered was that each castle was manned, to fight off the dead when they came.

Jon shook his head. Thinking about that would come later. It still mattered - it mattered so much that Jon had nearly stayed at the Night’s Watch, to help them, to make plans. But Sansa mattered too. And so did Winterfell. It was Jon’s duty to his family, to his father that he had to return to his childhood home. And it was the love that he felt for his sister that made him ride even harder, on the final bit of road, after which he would find himself at Winterfell’s gates.

The gates were smaller than he remembered, though he supposed he was bigger. He heard Tormund and Davos panting behind him. None of the three of them were seasoned riders. Tormund was probably the best but horses did not survive well above the wall, so what practise Tormund had was recent, from being a respected member of the wildlings, so respected that he earned himself one of few horses. Jon’s limited riding experience from his childhood at Winterfell had seen him here well enough, but he was glad to have arrived, to not have to exert his body so for a while.

The guards on the gates did not recognise Jon, though they did recognise his name. They asked, in that rough Northern accent that made Jon smile, if he wasn’t the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Jon just gave them a hard look. “Can I please see my sister?”

It didn’t take long to convince them to let him in. He passed under the archway with a feeling as though he were coming home. He felt younger, suddenly, and as though the fate of the world were not on his shoulders. It was a pleasant sensation.

He jumped down off his horse and heard Davos and Tormund do the same behind him. In front of them, Jon could see two knights duelling, though as he watched he became more and more certain that one of them, the taller, was a woman.

“Is that a woman?” he heard Tormund growl behind him. Lips twitching, Jon shared an amused look with Davos, who opened his mouth to speak.

Before he could, the attention of all three men was drawn by the approach of a short blonde woman and an even shorter golden-haired man from the ramparts. Jon could only smile.

“Lord Tyrion!” he called in recognition. From the small distance between them, he saw Tyrion smile.

“Jon Snow, it is a pleasure to see you,” Tyrion said and his voice sounded earnest. “I must say, we heard some distasteful rumours of your death. Your sister was quite upset.”

The mention of Sansa made Jon’s heart skip a beat. She was here - his sister was here. “Where is she?” he asked. His voice may have sounded desperate but the last contact he had had with his family was years ago, just before his uncle Benjen had ridden out into the beyond, never to return.

Tyrion smiled reassuringly and called one of the men watching the duel between the woman and a knight over, ordering him to fetch Lady Sansa. Jon smiled at the name. Sansa had always wanted to be a lady. “And, now, Jon Snow, I would like to introduce you to her grace, Daenerys Stormborn of the Targaryen dynasty and the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Jon turned his eyes fully onto the queen. He should have realised immediately who she was, but his thoughts were so focussed on Sansa. She was wearing furs, smarter than any that Jon had ever seen Lady Catelyn wear, and she held herself with such a grace that Jon felt as though he were in the presence of greatness, far more than he had ever felt around King Robert.

With a smile and a ducked head, Jon knelt to the floor. “It is an honour, your grace.” When he looked up and met her eyes, he saw that they were purple and sparkling. She smiled, her lips full and her teeth perfect.

“You may rise, Jon Snow,” she said, pronouncing his name as though it were a title. Jon shared her smile. She was a beautiful woman. Jon had never known any Targaryens but this was how he imagined them: flawless and blonde, with their trademark purple eyes. Daenerys Targaryen, stood before him.

Before he could say anything else, or introduce Ser Davos and Tormund, he heard his name called from the ramparts. Looking up, he found his sister, her eyes wide and her mouth open. She hurried down the stairs so quickly that Jon was afraid she would slip. He remembered once that Theon and Robb had put some sort of liquid on the bottom of the stairs so that she would, so that they could all laugh at her. She had not been happy. Remembering the way she had stalked off, her eyes like thunder, Jon smiled and met her halfway.

“Sansa,” he said fondly. The smile on his face made him feel as though he would burst.

“Jon,” she replied and he could hear the tears in her voice. Holding back no longer, Jon wrapped her in his arms. She was about his height, able to bury her face in his hair rather than his shoulder. “Oh, Jon, thank you, thank you.”

“What for?” he whispered. He could feel her tears on his scalp. She shook her head against his and then pulled away to look at him.

“Just thank you.” She smiled and he saw that she had grown to be even more beautiful than she had once been. She looked a lot like Catelyn, though with high Stark cheekbones and grey eyes. “I have to go and find Rickon.”

Jon’s heart stopped at the name of their baby brother, a boy he had long thought dead, along with Bran. “Rickon?”

Sansa’s smile could have heated the world like the sun, Jon thought. “He’s here, Jon. He’s here and he’s alive and-” Sansa’s face fell but then she shook her head. “He’ll be so happy to see you. I’ll go and get him. He’s had a hard day. I’m sure he’d want to hear this from me. You just- oh, talk to Tyrion! You should get to know Tyrion. He’s very special.”

And, with that, Sansa raced off, as though she were Arya and she had a lesson to hide from, leaving Jon to turn back to the queen and Tyrion, who were speaking with Tormund and Ser Davos. The duel had stopped in the background and the participants were watching the goings-on with interest. Tyrion stepped away from the queen and towards Jon, who looked up to watch Sansa disappear into the castle from the ramparts.

Smiling down at the dwarf, Jon remembered what he had once said. “I suppose you still have a fondness for broken things?”

Tyrion gave Jon a sad look and Jon remembered all of the times that he could have come, that he should have come. He had known that Sansa had married Ramsay Bolton and he could have come, should have come. “Jon, your sister is healing. She’s not broken anymore.”

“What happened to her?” Jon asked, trying to mask the tears in his throat. Tyrion shook her head.

“It’s her story to tell but, if I were you, Jon, I’d think carefully about whether I truly wanted to know what I didn’t prevent.”

With that statement that Jon thought was more aimed at himself than Jon, he looked up at where Sansa had disappeared. Whatever had been done to her was in the past. He would help her heal and they would be a family - Sansa and Rickon and Jon. And Arya. She was out there somewhere. And - Jon’s heart skipped - if Rickon was alive, perhaps so was Bran. They would be together and happy and their father and brother would smile down on them, the Starks, united again.


	13. Chapter 13

Sansa woke up one morning, a few days after discovering Osha’s body. She winced at the sun streaming in through the window. Tyrion’s room was in a terrible position. Every morning, she woke up to far too much sun in her eyes. Perhaps she would consider moving it.

“Good morning,” she heard a gruff voice beside her. Sansa gasped, the duvet falling down. Tyrion growled and Sansa remembered the night before.

She’d come to bed with him and they’d been talking and laughing and she’d kissed him. And then she’d just not stopped. And when he’d asked her if this was what she really wanted, there had been no part of her that wanted to say no.

So, they’d made love. And now she was naked and Tyrion’s eyes were planted very firmly on her chest.

Blushing, Sansa grappled with the sheets to cover herself but she was smiling. “You don’t regret last night do you?” Tyrion asked, his eyes wide and earnest.

Sansa shook her head. “The only thing I regret is not closing the curtains properly,” Sansa said, guarding her eyes with her hand to keep away the sun. Tyrion laughed and Sansa bent down to kiss him. “Thank you for last night.”

Tyrion gave her a funny look. “Thank you for last night,” he replied in turn and Sansa shook her head.

“No, I mean, thank you for showing me the way that it can be.”

Tyrion’s face softened. “I am very happy to show you how good it can be as often as you’d like,” he said and Sansa’s laugh escaped her without her control. She leaned down to press a kiss to his lips. When he pulled away, he looked her in the eyes for awhile and smiled. Sansa crinkled her nose and he reached up to cup her face. “I think you’re amazing, Sansa, and so strong.”

Sansa’s throat thickened with tears at his sincerity. How could she have gone from Ramsay to this? How could she have been so lucky? She didn’t know how to respond so she only kissed him again, and again. When she finally pulled away, she sank back into the pillows, pulling the covers up to cover her chest and letting out a happy giggle.

Tyrion watched her, an amused look on his face. “Are you happy, my dear?”

Sansa sighed, tipping her head back against the headboard. “Very happy.”

“Even with me?”

Sansa tutted and looked him in his eyes. “Especially with you.”

Tyrion narrowed his eyes. “You do not believe that I am too old for you?”

Sansa shrugged. “You’re not so old.”

“And I’m a dwarf.”

Sansa’s lips twitched. “Yes, I have noticed.”

“I’m just saying, Sansa, that you should consider if this is truly what you want before you-”

“Before I what?” Sansa said, laughing. “Before I sleep with you?” Tyrion didn’t meet her eyes. “Tyrion, you are the only man I trust, in the world. There is nobody else I would ever say yes to. You are kind and you are giving and you are clever and funny and I want to be with you. I don’t care that you are older than me. I don’t care that you’re a dwarf. You’re mine.”

Tyrion blinked. Sansa smiled, hoping that she hadn’t shocked him too much. If any of this was a surprise, she had not been showing her feelings very well, if at all. But Tyrion’s face didn’t stay blank for too long. After a few moments, he chuckled and said, “I want you to be mine too, Sansa.”

“I am yours,” Sansa cut in before he could say anything else.

Tyrion beamed at her. “And I love you for that.” Sansa’s heart beat harder in her chest. “But I want to make it more official.” Sansa inhaled sharply. She had a feeling she knew what he was going to say. She opened her mouth and he held his hand up. “Let me ask before you answer,” he asked. Closing her mouth, Sansa nodded. Her hands were shaking, she noticed as she looked down at the bed. She couldn’t believe he was about to ask her - this was the first time she’d be asked. In three goes, she was finally doing it right.

“I want to marry you again.”

Sansa could only smile when he proved her right. He wanted to marry her and she wanted to marry him. There was no doubt in her mind. She would marry him and they would win the realm back for Daenerys and then- then they would decide what they wanted to do. Their whole future was in front of them. They could have children and a life together - and sex. So much sex, for the rest of their lives.

Sansa giggled aloud as she nodded. “I want to marry you again.”

“You do?” Tyrion said and there was too much shock in his voice for Sansa not to bend down and kiss him, revealing her breasts as she did.

“Of course I do. I want to marry you!” Saying it for a second time made it so real. “We’re going to get married,” she said in awe. A thought came to her mind, irritatingly. Her brows furrowed. “Tyrion, we’ll have to wait until-”

Tyrion nodded. “We’ll kill him and then we’ll get married, okay?”

Sansa laughed. “How romantic.”

Tyrion placed his hand on her cheek. “I love you, Sansa. I want to do everything for you.” Sansa could only kiss him and keep kissing him. She would be able to kiss him every day for the rest of their lives. Every day.

She pulled away, the thought spurring her on. Straddling him and finding herself absurdly taller than him, she laughed happily and said, “I love you too.” Tyrion grinned and arched his neck so that she could bend hers down and capture his lips in hers.

XXX

Daenerys was not alone as Tyrion had expected her to be. Rather, she was in deep discussion with Jon Snow, only the two of them in the room. Tyrion could have mentioned to his queen that she should have a chaperone, but he’d been sleeping in a bed with Jon’s sister for weeks without a chaperone - and he had just left her sleepy from sex in their room.

“Lord Tyrion,” Daenerys said and her tone was surprise. Tyrion briefly wondered if he had interrupted something but he saw nothing on Jon’s face to suggest that there had been anything going on. And, if Jon was anything like his father, he would not be able to hide guilt very well. “I wasn’t expecting you,” his queen said. Jon only drank from his wine beside her.

Tyrion smiled and came close to the solar table, though he did not take a seat. “I wanted you to be the first to know, your grace.” Daenerys’ eyes narrowed. “It’s good that you are here too, Jon, because I am marrying your sister. I just asked her to marry me.”

Jon choked on his goblet. “You’re marrying Sansa?” Tyrion was surprised to find that he was smiling. He wondered what Sansa and Jon had been talking about over the past few days, since they had been reunited. She had spent a lot of time with him. Tyrion wondered if Jon had seen this coming, or if he even knew of Tyrion and Sansa’s first marriage.

“I am,” Tyrion said strongly, his smile stretching his face muscles. “She has agreed to marry me.” Daenerys was staring at him, unmoving, and it made Tyrion uncomfortable, so he turned his eyes back to Jon.

“Congratulations,” Jon said earnestly. “Sansa has told me how good you have been to her and I am so glad that you are getting married.”

Tyrion accepted this congratulations with a thankful nod and then turned his eyes to Daenerys who was watching Jon curiously. Tyrion opened his mouth to speak when Daenerys snapped her eyes around to Tyrion. He watched her with not a little trepidation and was relieved when her face turned into what he hoped was a genuine smile. He thought that it was: she wasn’t very good at hiding her true emotions.

“Congratulations, Tyrion,” she said. Tyrion’s heart felt warm. “I hope that you and Sansa will be happy together.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Tyrion said, meeting her eyes and smiling. “I have full hope that we will be. I- I didn’t expect this to happen when I became your Hand.”

Daenerys only shook her head with a small laugh. “Nor did I. When you marry Sansa, you will be her hand, or whatever they call a principal advisor in the North, and you will be one of my many advisors, but always my most trusted one.”

Tyrion closed his eyes, sending thanks to gods that he did not believe in. “You are so gracious, your grace.”

“You will support me through the war, won’t you?” Daenerys said and Tyrion nodded.

“Once Ramsay is dead, we would love nothing more.”

Daenerys’ lips twitched. “Lord Varys was right. You and Sansa are quite the team.” Tyrion blushed. “Now, go, return to your betrothed. I assume she is waiting in your bed.”

A spluttering noise came from Jon’s throat and Tyrion’s appreciative laugh stayed in. With a wink at his choice of queen, he said to Jon, “Lady Sansa was just adjusting her chastity belt before I left.”

With the sound of laughter from the rightful queen of Westeros behind him, Tyrion left, considering the looks that Jon and Daenerys had shared and hoping that, one day soon, Sansa would call Queen Daenerys her goodsister and Westeros would call Jon its sovereign prince, or king, depending on how Daenerys wanted to do things.

XXX

On the other side of the castle, Brienne sat on the floor, kneeling in front of Jaime and counting every time his hand came up to touch her shoulder, over and over again, as he tried to make his body fit again, like it had been before he lost his hand and stopped training it in the same way. It was a good way to make sure he didn’t go absolutely stir crazy, from not being able to leave her room.

“You know, I was thinking,” Jaime said as his head bobbed up and then went back down, his hand quickly brushing her shoulder to ensure that he came all the way up. “If, in some far future, we were both free of this place, where would you want to go?”

He said this in between crunches, named for the awful way they made your stomach feel. Brienne furrowed her brow at him. “If you could leave this room, you mean, where would I want to go?” Jaime nodded. Brienne barely had to think. “I’d go to Tarth, to my father. Where would you go?”

“Hmm,” he said, biting his lip as he went down again. Brienne had lost count of how many crunches he had done when he started talking. She was sure he wouldn’t mind. It was more than sixty anyway. “I guess it would depend on whether or not I was Lord of Casterly Rock.”

He went back down and Brienne tutted. “Jaime, stop for a second.” Jaime did with an exhalation of breath as he collapsed his head against the floor. “Why are you asking this?”

“Tyrion came to see me this morning while you were training.”

Brienne nodded. “Yes, Sansa came to see me too. They’re getting married. What of it? It was the obvious eventual ending for them.”

Jaime gave her a withering look, pulling himself up one last time. Brienne moved away from his knees, sitting with her back against the bed. “And what about us? What is your obvious eventual ending for us?”

Brienne pulled her knees to her chest. “I don’t know, Jaime,” she said quickly, ignoring her memory of Sansa’s comments that morning. Her friend had been in a romantic mood.

Jaime narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t thought about our future at all?” he asked and Brienne thought that he sounded somewhat disappointed. She felt unease stir in her chest, wishing she knew what he wanted to hear. He sighed. “Brienne, I just want to know what you want.”

Brienne wanted Jaime. Jaime forever was what she wanted, but she couldn’t imagine that that was what he wanted. Surely, after this was over and he could leave her room and spend time with other people, he would want something else, something more exciting. Jaime shook his head. “Fine, I’ll tell you what I want.” Brienne nodded hesitatingly when he gave her a look to ensure that she wanted him to continue. “I want to marry you.”

Brienne jolted. Her whole mind, her whole belief system jolted. “You want to-”

“I want to marry you,” he repeated. “I want to marry you and go to Tarth or wherever and have a family and have a life and duel with you every day and -” Jaime cut himself off. Brienne stared at him, open-mouthed. He gave her a little shrug, like what he had just said wasn’t earth-shattering, but just the idle mind wanderings of a man.

“You want to marry me.”

“I do.”

“I- Jaime, I would be a terrible wife, you realise that?”

Jaime shook his head, amusement lighting up his mossy eyes. “There is nothing terrible about you.” Brienne scoffed. “No, I’m serious. You’d be amazing.”

Brienne was not sure that she agreed. She would be a terrible party-planner, a terrible housekeeper. She had no mind for politics, and all the wives of important lords needed to be ambitious and Brienne was not, in the least. Her mind whirred. She jumped up. She needed to speak to Sansa.

“Can I- Jaime, I just need to get some fresh air,” she said, her words coming out in a rush. Jaime nodded and she could see that he was disappointed. She closed her eyes to it. This was more than she could handle, for the moment. Grabbing her sword, she hoped that someone would be in the yard to train with. “I- I’m sorry. I’ll see you soon.”

With one last look at his downcast face, she rushed from the room and out into the courtyard.

XXX

Sansa rolled her shoulders, staring down at the books in front of her and double checking her maths. It had never been her strong suit and her septa had not emphasised addition and subtraction anyway. Dancing and reading and sewing had been Sansa’s main pursuits as a girl. She wished she had had an education like her brothers, that would have prepared her to have to look over paperwork and sums and the running of Winterfell. She supposed they never thought this would happen.

She closed the book. She was fairly certain that it was right and she could always ask Tyrion to check over it that night. He was far better than her at it. Perhaps when they were married, she would pass the book-checking over to him. He would save so much time doing it. Sansa ran her hand over the front of the leather to rid it of dust. The books had not been looked after much under Ramsay, so they had had the opportunity to gather dust. But no more. Sansa and Tyrion would take care of Winterfell, so that it was at its best potential.

“It’s a shame to let things get dusty, isn’t it, wife?”

The voice made Sansa’s insides shrivel, her hairs stand on end and her very being shake. It came from behind her. She turned her head slowly and closed her eyes when she saw Ramsay there.

When she opened them, he was still there and he was smirking even wider. He pushed the curtain to the side. Sansa couldn’t believe that he had been there the whole time she had. Surely he had not been hiding behind the curtain. How had she not seen him? How had she not heard his breathing?

Heart battering in her chest, she stood, putting her back to the door and inching away from the desk. She could get away and find Jon, find Tyrion, find Daenerys, find Brienne. Find a sword and chop his head off. Pointing at him, she said, “How did you get in?” She hated the way her voice shook.

Ramsay ignored her and continued, “You didn’t let anything get dusty, did you?” Sansa swallowed. “That cunt of yours certainly didn’t gather any dust before you let that dirty Lannister dwarf stick his cock in there.” Sansa felt bile rising in her throat. How did he know about Tyrion? How long had he been in Winterfell?

Osha. He must have killed Osha. Sansa was going to be sick.

“I must say, Sansa, I thought you had a bit more self-respect. A dwarf?” The look on his face, the amused disgust, made Sansa want to slap him. She wanted to rip the skin off his face. Shaking she continued to back herself to the door. She wasn’t sure how far away she was. Ramsay smirked and whistled, like he had for his dogs.

But his dogs were dead. Sansa had watched as they were slaughtered under Daenerys’ command. It had been weeks and weeks ago. There were no dogs left in Winterfell. “Does he make you feel good, Sansa? Does he make you feel better than I did?”

Ramsay had started to walk towards her. Sansa’s stomach was in her throat, her heart there too, ramming alongside each other. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to run once she was outside the door. Why was she not always followed by guards? She had got complacent, complacent with happiness, and now Ramsay was here. She wanted to scream but no sound was coming from her throat. A scream might bring Ramsay even closer - and he was close enough.

“Does he make you scream, Sansa? Does he make you wet? Does your little cunt tremble at the very thought of him?”

Sansa’s back was against the door. His face was so close that she could feel his breath. She was sure he could hear her heart pounding in her chest.

Her hand scrambled for the door handle and, when she found it, Ramsay’s smirk only grew. The door opened and she turned, quickly, so quickly that she almost missed the sound of Ramsay’s laugh behind her.

Outside the door were two guards, in Winterfell uniform, but, and Sansa’s eyes closed with the realisation, they were not her guards. They were not loyal to her. She remembered their faces, saw them in her nightmares. How many times had they watched Sansa’s rape? How many times had she watched them hurt Theon? How many times had they touched her through her clothes with Ramsay’s permission? These were his most loyal guards and their smirks matched Ramsay’s. “No,” Sansa cried and there were tears on her cheeks. She wondered when they had started.

XXX

Jon ran faster than he ever had, his body protesting. Daenerys was behind him and she was also running, or so Jon thought. He didn’t know, he didn’t care. All that mattered was the guard who, panting, had arrived at Daenerys’ solar to give them the news: Ramsay Bolton was in Winterfell and he had Sansa, with a knife at her neck.

Jon had heard Daenerys’ snappish order to fetch Tyrion immediately and then he had been running, panting, clambering to the courtyard. He skidded out onto the ramparts and saw her. She looked so much like Catelyn. Her red hair was glinting in the winter sun. He wished he could see her face. He could only see the top of her head, her back hidden by the man holding a knife to her throat.

There were only two more men standing beside them. Every person in the courtyard had dropped their weapons and Jon was grateful for their loyalty. He found himself at the bottom of the steps quickly and then the shortest of the men saw him.

His face lit up as Jon approached. “Here he is, my goodbrother,” the man said and Jon realised that he must be Ramsay. He had never wanted to hurt someone so much. He raged, the anger propelling him forward. “Ah-ah,” Ramsay warned with a mocking wag of his finger. “Don’t get too close, Bastard. Your sister’s throat could paint this snow with just one word.”

There was so much fear in Sansa’s eyes. Her cheeks were wet. Reaching up to his own face, Jon realised that his eyes were leaking tears too. This couldn’t possibly be it. He had barely been back with Sansa for a week. He couldn’t be robbed of her now, not when they had come so far together.

Jon was without a weapon. Even if he’d had one, he wasn’t sure he would have known what to do with it. If he killed Ramsay, his man would kill Sansa. There was no way out of it. He wanted to be sick. What would his father say if he could see him now, leaving his sister in danger?

A painful moan came from above, from the ramparts, though Jon did not turn his head to see who it was. He didn’t need to. He wished he could take this sight from his true goodbrother’s mind. This was the man who loved Sansa.

Ramsay let out a mocking laugh as Tyrion hurried down to them, Daenerys behind him. “Here he is, the man who fucked my wife. Isn’t her cunt wonderfully tight?”

Jon’s shout of malcontent came out of him without consciousness. Sansa’s shoulders were shaking, her sobs silent but heartbreaking. He could not believe this was happening. It was surely all a bad dream. Sansa’s eyes were on Tyrion and Jon turned to find Tyrion watching her too, tears on his cheeks.

“What do you want, Lord Ramsay?” Daenerys said, her voice calm and controlled, though her eyes were like fire and her whole body was taut with tension. Ramsay chuckled.

“I want my wife back. I am quite fed up of her spreading her legs for other men.” The sentence was said with a joking tone and Jon hated it, hated this man, hated himself for not coming to save Sansa the second he heard of her marriage. His hands shook. “I have a special punishment for adulterers,” Ramsay said gleefully. “Show them.”

The Bastard nodded at his man, the one who was not holding Sansa. Jon had not realised the man had been holding a bag, had not ntoiced anything but Sansa. The man smirked and reached inside the bag, pulling out what Jon thought at first was a ball, like they used to use to play sports, when they had been young.

Instead the round thing that Ramsay’s man threw was a head and, worse than that, it was the head of Theon Greyjoy.

Jon was throwing up before Sansa had finished screaming, her sobs escaping from her louder and louder. She had told him about Theon, what he had done to her. Jon’s insides felt numb. This was a man who had done terrible things to the Starks, but it was also the man who had saved Sansa from the Bastard. And Sansa had loved him, as a brother. Watching her heart break was more painful than anything Jon had ever experienced, even more than a knife in his heart.

More and more people were flowing out of the walls of the castle, come to see what was going on, to see their lady, to save their lady maybe. Each one could see the terrible situation they were in.

“You see, I want Sansa’s head just like Reek’s,” Ramsay said, his eyes widening. Sansa was sobbing openly, Theon’s head in her eyeline. Jon looked around himself hopelessly. The knights of Winterfell all had their hands on their swords but there was nothing they could do.

“Have you not done enough?” Jon heard Tyrion say, his voice clouded in tears.

Ramsay laughed cruelly. “I suppose Sansa told you all about our special time together.” Jon closed his eyes. Sansa had told him about the awful rape she had endured for months. “I suppose she lied and said she didn’t love it.”

“You bastard,” Tyrion cursed. Jon looked up to the sky to see one of Daenerys’ dragons flying. He blinked away his tears and wished he had the ability to call it down to him, to use it to burn Ramsay alive.

“My father legitimised me,” Ramsay snapped and Jon inhaled sharply, eyes darting to Sansa but she was still alive, her throat still intact. He racked his brain for what he could do. He had been the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, one of the highest honours in the land and yet he could not even save his sister’s life.

They had nothing to bargain with, nothing to offer. Ramsay was crazy, mad, and he wanted Sansa’s head. They both wanted the same thing: they wanted Sansa. There was no compromise to be made with this madman.

Jon closed his eyes in helplessness, praying to the gods that his father had believed in, to the gods that Catelyn had believed in, to every god that he could think of, for a miracle.

And one of them delivered.

The swipe of metal through flesh was a sound that made Jon think of his death. The sound of a dagger breaking through skin to hit bones or blood or muscle or- 

Or the arm of a soldier.

The gold and red sword slashed one and an arm fell to the ground, its owner screaming and releasing Sansa. The arm, its hand still clutching a dagger, lay limp and useless on the snowy ground in front of her.

Before anyone truly had any time to react, there was another flash of red and gold and the head of Ramsay’s man tumbled to the ground, rolling blood through the snow. Sansa let out a sob as she staggered away.

Brienne was magnificent. She was not even wearing armour as she approached Ramsay, barely giving him time to pull the sword from his waist before she had her sword at his throat. His quickly follow, not quite reaching her stomach. Brienne’s sword was huge, valyrian steel. It glimmered in a way that Jon recognised easily. He saw it every time he swong his own sword, every time his father had used his.

Jon couldn’t take his eyes off Brienne, not even when he heard Tyrion move to take Sansa into his arms. Sansa was still sobbing but Jon hoped she was watching still. “You are evil,” Brienne spat, “and you deserve this more than anyone.” She pulled her sword back, batted away his feeble attempt to counter her and thrust her sword into his stomach.


	14. Chapter 14

Brienne stumbled back up to her chamber. She had barely been able to stand the sight of Ramsay’s dead body for five minutes. He was dead. She had killed Ramsay Bolton and everything should be right with the world, now. Despite it all, she felt sick. Her stomach twisted as she reached the corridor that led to her chamber, where she would find Jaime. She rubbed her hands against her thighs to try and clear them of the blood that was drying on them. Perhaps she would order a bath sent up before anything else.

It had been quite easy to creep up on Ramsay. There were so many people crowded in the courtyard, so many knights with their hands on their swords but unwilling to do anything for fear of harming Sansa, but Brienne had been angry. Angry at herself for not being immediately happy to marry Jaime, angry at Jaime for bringing up marriage out of what felt like nowhere, angry at Ramsay and his men for breaking her.

She had only wanted to beat somebody within an inch of their life. She had wanted to go down to the courtyard and duel with somebody until they were on the floor and she was panting and sweating with the exertion. It would have given her a clear head, would have let her think, really think about what Jaime had asked. It would have made her so tired that she would have known what she wanted because she wouldn’t have been able to think of the potential consequences of any of the options.

But, instead, when she had reached the courtyard, she had found Sansa, a knife at her throat, and a man that Brienne remembered as one of the men who had touched her, standing behind Sansa holding her close, Ramsay beside them, looking smug and evil. She’d seen Jon, helpless to do anything without hurting Sansa, Daenerys beside him, looking strong as always, but helpless too, because what could they do without drawing Ramsay and his man’s attention?

Which was why Brienne was in the perfect position. She knew how to use her sword, knew that she would be able to kill them both, but she was not wearing the clunky armour of the other knights in the courtyard. She would be able to approach silently.

She had almost been in a daze as she considered what she needed to do. If she killed Ramsay first, his man would surely kill Sansa. If she killed his man outright, there was a good chance he would be able to slit Sansa’s throat on his way to death - but, but if she could get rid of the knife from Sansa’s throat, then she truly thought she would be able to kill them both with hardly a problem.

So, mind hazy with its sole purpose, any consequences or potential issues far away, Brienne had stretched forward and, with a swipe of her valyrian steel, she had taken Ramsay’s man’s arm from his body, waiting only the second that it took for Sansa to stumble away to take his head as well.

And then it had been just Ramsay left. Sansa’s cries, Tyrion’s soothing words, the sounds of the crowd had faded into nothingness as she lifted her mighty sword, batting away Ramsay’s pathetic attempt at stopping her, and plunged it into the stomach of the man who had tortured her and so many others.

And now she was here, in front of her door, where Jaime was within, and she realised that the adrenaline was running out and her body just wanted to collapse onto the bed, beside Jaime. She let herself in and Jaime looked up from the book that he was struggling through with a smile. He closed it eagerly and stood to greet her.

“You were quick,” he said, sounding pleased, and Brienne realised that he obviously had no idea what had happened. When he came close, he faltered as his eyes found the blood on her hands and on her legs. Suddenly, his eyes were searching her whole body and quickly finishing with her eyes. “What happened?”

She sat down first and then started to speak, in a dull voice, her hands fidgetting with each other on her lap. It was quite a short story. Jaime watched her, eyes wide, as she told it. When she was finished, he only sat down beside her and reached for her hand on her lap. At this, tears leaked out of her eyes and Jaime, slowly and tentatively, wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning his head on her shoulder and pressing kisses to it through her clothes.

“It’s okay, now, Brienne. It’s all okay now,” he promised. Brienne nodded, sobs wracking her whole body. “You’re free, Brienne. He’s gone. You’re free now.”

Freedom. The word was so pleasant in Brienne’s ears. She was free, without any oaths holding her. What did she want to do with her freedom? Her sobs slowed as she turned, watching Jaime burying his face in his shoulder and brushing his stump along her back in an attempt to comfort her. She had to smile. This was the man who had ridden a month across the continent, to find her and save her life, and, now, he was locked in this room with her. This was the man who she loved.

This was the man she wanted to marry.

“Jaime,” she said tentatively, clearing her throat to get rid of the hoarseness. Jaime looked up at her curiously, leaving his chin against her shoulder. “If the offer is still there, I would like to marry you.”

Jaime pulled away, grinning. “You would like to marry me?”

Brienne scowled at him. “I could change my mind back again very easily.” Jaime shook his head, tightening his arms around her waist.

“No, no, you’ve said it now. You’re going to be my wife.” Brienne had to smile. She was going to be his wife. “Brienne Lannister of Tarth has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Brienne shook her head. He had definitely considered that before. It rolled off his tongue. This man had too much time on his hands. “I’m going to be your wife.”

“Yes,” Jaime said, pleased and pressing a quick kiss on her neck. “You’ll never ever get rid of me.”

Brienne liked the sound of that. Jaime Lannister’s wife. She wondered what Lady Catelyn would have thought of this and then realised that it didn’t matter. The only oath she held was to Jaime. The thought of Arya Stark niggled in her mind, but she ignored it for now. Podrick’s face also appeared at the forefront of her mind, but she pushed it back. There was nothing she could do there. She was sure that it was too late and she didn’t want it to be confirmed, not yet anyway. In a few weeks, perhaps she would talk to Jaime about what to do on those fronts, but, for now, she would enjoy her freedom with Jaime.

And she would secure his freedom too and they would be able to do whatever they pleased, together, as man and wife.

XXX

Dany found Jon outside on the ramparts, leaning on the wood, watching a duel between two of Dany’s Unsullied in the yard beneath. She was almost reluctant to speak with him. She had seen the looks that Tyrion had given them and thought that her Hand might have been plotting. She knew that she needed a husband to give the illusion that an heir was coming, even though she was barren. Marrying into the right family, though, would give her the choice of an heir. She could choose the heir from that family, and it would be as though it were passing within a family.

And she hardly knew Jon Snow, so she could hardly choose his family as the next monarchs of Westeros, not based on a few days of kindness, a few nice conversations. But she wanted to be his friend. She didn’t think he had many friends outside of his family, not if the rumours of his death and resurrection were to be believed.

Daenerys was never sure how to greet him. He did not have an official title, being a bastard and no longer being the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, but she did not feel comfortable enough to just call him Jon as though he were nobody, so she just stood next to him and hoped that he would greet her.

He did. “Your grace,” he said and his voice sounded pleased. Daenerys was glad of it. “How can I help you?”

Dany smiled. “Yesterday was quite dramatic,” she commented idly. “I only wanted to ask how you were.”

His face showed surprise but Dany did not change her own. She knew that it must have been hard for him to stand there while his sister’s husband threatened her life. It had been difficult enough for her to see her friend in that position. Nobody had wanted to risk Sansa’s life. The thought of her death had been abhorrent to Dany, let alone to Tyrion or Jon.

Dany had not spoken with Tyrion yet. After Sansa’s stressful experience - and that was putting it lightly - the betrothed pair had returned to Tyrion’s chambers and had yet to emerge. Dany was willing to let them have all the time they wished to recover. But, as soon as they did, they needed to move on and make tracks into Westeros, if Dany ever wished to claim the throne as her own.

“I am well, now, your grace,” Jon said politely. “I would like to see my sister at some point but I am willing to allow her to take comfort from her betrothed for as long as she needs.” Dany inclined her head. “I suppose you will be moving out, soon?”

Dany nodded. “I came to be queen, not to sit in Winterfell. I am glad that Lady Brienne rid us of one tyrant, but there is another one sitting in the Red Keep, her son on a throne that he does not deserve.” Jon nodded.

“Where are you planning on heading next?”

Dany smiled. “The Reach.”

Jon’s eyebrows flew up his face. “Quite the challenge.”

“I was built for challenges,” Dany said strongly. Jon chuckled.

“Of that I have no doubt, your grace,” he said. Dany bit her lip to contain her smile at the compliment.

“And you?” she asked. “What are you wanting to do next?”

Jon shook his head. “My responsibility is to my siblings now. Sansa is well looked after by Tyrion. Rickon has been returned to us but I have two more siblings out there somewhere. I want to find Arya and Bran and I want us all to be happy together again.”

Dany smiled. “A nice vision.” Jon nodded. “And after that?”

“I will support my sibling as lord or lady of Winterfell.”

“I have made Sansa lady of Winterfell.”

Jon nodded. “I know, your grace. Does my brother’s return change that?”

Dany shook her head. “Lady Sansa earned Winterfell. Even if both of your brothers’ returned, I imagine she would serve as a sort of regent and I see her as a very capable, efficient leader. If your brother Bran wants it, then he can petition me and I will speak with Sansa, but, for now, I believe she deserves it.”

Jon smiled. “I quite agree.” He opened his mouth to speak when Dany’s attention was attracted by the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned to find Sansa emerging onto the ramparts.

“Lady Sansa,” Daenerys said in surprise, glancing at Jon to find him as shocked as she was. “We did not expect you.”

Sansa smiled, not responding to Dany’s statement. “I received a visitor this morning, your grace. Lady Brienne wishes to marry Ser Jaime.”

Dany swallowed. She had known that she could not keep Jaime Lannister locked up in Lady Brienne’s rooms indefinitely but it had been a nice temporary solution, keeping him out of sight and out of mind. “I suppose they do not want to marry in Lady Brienne’s rooms,” Dany said unnecessarily. Sansa smiled at her. “What would you do, Lady Sansa?”

Sansa sighed. “Your grace, my relationship with Jaime Lannister is not as fractious as your own, but I would allow them to marry. Ser Jaime has not made an attempt to return to his sister and I promise you that, after he marries Lady Brienne, she will not allow him back even if he attempted it.”

“So, you believe he will be loyal?”

“I can’t make any promises, my lady. I believe he will be loyal to Brienne.”

Daenerys exhaled. “Let them get married. They can have a honeymoon period in their rooms and I can decide what to do then. You are right, though, that having him married to someone who is not his sister will keep him here.”

Sansa beamed. “Thank you, your grace. They will get married tonight, in my mother’s sept, if that is acceptable to you.”

Daenerys nodded. “It is more than acceptable. I will be there myself.” Sansa nodded, her shock reflected in her eyes if nowhere else. “You should go and help Lady Brienne get ready, Lady Sansa. My handmaidens will help you if you need to adjust a dress.”

“Thank you,” Sansa said earnestly and, then, she rushed off, leaving Daenerys to consider that Sansa Stark’s friendship was a special gift indeed and that Lady Brienne was very fortunate to know her. Daenerys knew that she was too.

XXX

Jaime looked up when he heard the knock at his door. He was the only person in there, growing ever more frustrated by his inability to tie his necktie. Brienne had left over an hour ago to get ready with Sansa, for their wedding. They were getting married. At this point, though, Jaime would be getting married without a necktie. And how would he be able to tie Brienne’s cloak around her shoulders? He felt like less than half a man.

The door opened despite Jaime not calling to give them entry. He wasn’t surprised to find his brother there. It was only he who would walk in without permission, save Brienne, but she wouldn’t knock on her own door. Tyrion closed the door behind him.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Tyrion asked, amusement in his voice. “You realise that it’s your wedding day, don’t you?”

“Yes, thank you, Tyrion,” Jaime said testily. Tyrion arched an eyebrow and Jaime sighed, mumbling, “I can’t tie my necktie.”

Tyrion snorted, receiving a glare from his brother. With a roll of his eyes, he said, “Sit down and I’ll do it.”

Jaime sat, highly embarrassed by the fact that he had to have his brother tie his necktie on his wedding day. “Thank you,” he grumbled. Tyrion grinned, reaching forward for the necktie.

“How do you feel?” Tyrion asked.

Jaime sighed. “Are we really doing this, Tyrion?” Tyrion nodded. “I feel great. It’s my wedding day.”

“You sound ecstatic,” Tyrion said, quirking a brow.

“I just feel like she deserves better.” Tyrion snorted and Jaime gave him a straight look to tell him that he wasn’t joking, that he was entirely serious.

“Okay, Jaime,” Tyrion said, “I know that I am biased but I think you’re great. Brienne thinks you’re great. Even Sansa thinks you’re okay. She went to Daenerys to ask for permission for your wedding.”

“I know and I’m grateful.”

“You are not perfect.” Jaime snorted. “But you love Brienne. You came here the second there was trouble-”

“I should have left earlier-”

“Jaime,” Tyrion sighed. “If you start with should haves, we’ll be here all night. You should have said no the first time Cersei touched your cock. You should have beat Robb Stark at the Whispering Wood. You should have-”

“Okay, Tyrion!” Jaime said loudly. “I get it. I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

Tyrion nodded emphatically. “You have, but you’re moving on from them. You’re doing everything you can for this woman. You are kind and funny and loyal and you’re going to marry Brienne and prove every day that you are good enough for her and that you deserve each other.” Jaime nodded uncertainly.

“I’m scared that I won’t be able to tie the cloak around her neck,” he admitted quietly.

Tyrion shook his head. “You weren’t there when I married Sansa the first time but she would not duck for me to cloak her, to bring her under my protection. It was humiliating and I was furious with her.”

Jaime scoffed. “So, it’s going to be humiliating for me?”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “No, Jaime, what I mean is that it didn’t matter because, here I am, remarrying her. It worked out eventually.” Tyrion cocked his head. “And, anyway, you can always ask Brienne to help you tie it. She loves you. Sansa did not love me at the time.”

“But she loves you now?” Jaime asked, curious.

Tyrion smiled genuinely. “Yes.”

“When are you going to get married?”

Tyrion shrugged. “Whenever she wants to.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter since you’re already fucking her.”

“Precisely.”

Jaime and Tyrion met eyes and shared a laugh as Tyrion pulled away from fiddling with Jaime’s tie. Jaime laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Thank you, Tyrion. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too,” Tyrion said with a nod.

XXX

Sansa’s maid tightened the straps on her corset as Sansa stared into the looking glass. The girl was a Dothraki, who had worked for Daenerys as her handmaiden, until Daenerys asked her to be Sansa’s maid instead. She was very good and her Common Tongue was improving every day. She was even teaching Sansa a few Dothraki words and, every day, she did something more and more complicated with Sansa’s hair, just like Daenerys’ handmaidens did with her hair. This evening, for her friend’s wedding, it was a multitude of braids that came together in one braid that reached the small of her back.

At the sound of a catcall, Sansa turned to find Tyrion at the door, dressed in his smartest clothes. Sansa smiled at the sight of him. He had been to see Jaime and check that he was ready to get married, like a good brother. Sansa’s maid brought her over her sleeves and started to attach them to her dress. “How is he?”

Tyrion smiled. “Well. Where is Brienne?”

“In my solar,” Sansa said, nodding to the room that was attached to her bedchambers where Tyrion had entered. “She’s ready and I’ll only be a few minutes more.”

“You look spectacular, by the way,” Tyrion said with a smile. “All this wedding business has me wondering when we’ll get married.”

Sansa met her betrothed’s eyes in the mirror and shrugged. “When do you want to get married?”

“Soon,” Tyrion said simply.

Sansa smiled. “I agree but I would like it to be a little more than this one.”

Tyrion nodded. “Okay, perfect. I’m sure we could organise something for in a few weeks.” The thought sparked excitement in Sansa. A few weeks and she would be married to Tyrion again. She wouldn’t be Ramsay’s wife, nor even his widow. She would be Lady Lannister, Brienne her goodsister, and Jaime her goodbrother.

Every wonderful thing had to have a drawback, she thought, trying to push down the little smirk that played at her lips.

“It will have to be a big celebration,” Sansa declared, turning around as her maid fastened her cloak around her neck.

“Of course,” Tyrion agreed. “I’m sure her grace would not have it any other way.”

Sansa smiled at the idea and then, when her maid gave her the nod of approval, she stepped over to her husband where she gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. “Let’s go and get your brother married,” she said. Tyrion grinned.

XXX

The ceremony was beautiful. Only Sansa, Tyrion, Jon, Rickon and Queen Daenerys were witnesses. Rickon had demanded to be invited when Sansa and Jon had explained what was happening and he had looked very sweet in his suit.

Jaime had struggled with Brienne’s cloak but she had been all too happy to assist him and the act of tying the cloak around her throat together had been quite symbolic of their union. The vows were said in perfect unison and Jaime kissed her to seal it all, at the end. There was a quiet round of applause that Brienne appreciated but which meant next to nothing. The only people that this wedding really mattered to, really affected, were Brienne and Jaime. Everyone else was extra, part of the dressing that made it real, but essentially unimportant.

Especially when they returned to their chambers.

Brienne had got married in her armour, despite Queen Daenerys’ kind offer of handmaidens to fix her a dress. Armour made far more sense, for her and Jaime, no matter how disappointed and confused Sansa had been at the choice. And Jaime had grinned at the sight of her, wearing his sword. His had matched, of course, like a true married couple. Not that many married couples both had swords, but it was a pleasant idea.

“You realise I will be little help taking off your armour,” Jaime commented, leaning against one of the bedposts, his legs crossed at the ankle. Brienne smiled but it fell quickly and he approached slowly. “We don’t have to do anything,” he assured her. “I can wait a month, a year, our whole lives if I have to. I just want to be with you.”

Brienne smiled and shook her head. “That will be unnecessary. I want to- I want to be with you, like that.”

“Are you sure?” Jaime asked, meeting her eyes. Brienne nodded, letting out a breath. “Because I am happy to wait-”

Brienne cut him off with her lips on his. When she pulled away, she was gratified to see him pleasantly surprised. “I don’t want to wait.”


	15. Chapter 15

Daenerys greeted Yara Greyjoy alone but for two Unsullied guards. She had heard that the Lady of the Iron Islands was fiercely independent and the last thing that Dany wanted was for Lady Greyjoy to think that she relied on a man for her power. Her power was hers alone - and it would be the same in Westeros, once she had won back the continent.

Lady Greyjoy herself came with a small retinue but boisterous retinue and Dany noticed that, like herself, she had struggled to find companions who were women. Dany wondered whether that had more to do with the lack of educated, politically inclined women available to them, rather than a dislike for the entire gender. Dany had discovered that, actually, when given the opportunity, she rubbed along well with another ambitious woman. Sansa had been her prime example. Although she had initially thought that things would be rocky, Sansa had proved herself to be ambitious for the North, rather than solely for herself, and she was also witty, clever and extraordinarily loyal to her betrothed.

It had been Sansa’s idea, in fact, to invite Yara Greyjoy to become an ally, an ingenious one that Dany wished she had thought of first. The powerful women across the realm had to ally together, excepting Cersei, of course. Daenerys would have to be desperate - and foolish - to ally with her. She and Sansa had been recently speaking about Margaery Tyrell but Daenerys was going back on forth on the idea.

Yara came close, her homely features and simple clothing almost making Daenerys mistake her for a servant girl. She wore no gown, but the breeches and vest of a man, much like Lady Brienne. She wore a rich cloak, however, and the sword at her side was very fine. “Lady Greyjoy,” Daenerys greeted with a warm smile. “It is an honour to greet you.”

“Your grace,” Lady Greyjoy said deferentially and she bowed her head low, though her back did not bend. Daenerys did not show her displeasure on her face. This meeting would convince Yara Greyjoy that the correct way was to bend the knee and reap the benefits. “Your invitation was much welcome.”

“I trust you left the Iron Islands in a prosperous state.”

Lady Greyjoy turned to her companions, notably a tall, dark-haired one who smirked at her. “Always, your grace,” she said, her tongue between her teeth as she met Daenerys’ eyes with a lusty gaze. Dany had to keep down her smile as she informed the lady where they would be sharing their meeting later that afternoon, after she and her men had eaten and washed up. “Looking forward to it, your grace.”

Dany watched the Ironislanders walk away, led by one of Dany’s two guards to where Sansa had allowed them rooms within the keep. “How interesting,” she muttered, glancing at her remaining guard, who remained quiet. She smiled and walked back into the keep. She would need to eat herself before the meeting.

XXX

When Sansa received the news from Queen Daenerys that Yara had agreed to ally with them, in return for unrivalled support for Yara as Lady of the Iron Islands and various other political gambits, Sansa had left her book and gone to search for Yara immediately. Of course, the alliance was the most important aspect of Yara’s trip to Winterfell but Sansa wanted to speak with the girl about her brother, whom Sansa had loved as her own brother, and she felt that Yara deserved to receive the news from Sansa, rather than anybody else, of what had happened to him. For that reason, she had asked Daenerys not to mention Theon’s terrible death at the hands of Ramsay.

She found Yara in the Great Hall, with her men. Sansa was rather surprised to find that she was surrounded by men. Very few women sat by her side. Sansa had assumed that the renowned Lady of the Iron Islands would be surrounded by many other strong-willed women but Sansa supposed that they were difficult to find, especially in a rather primitive culture, like the one of the Iron Islands.

Sansa wanted to be surrounded by strong women, as Lady of Winterfell. She would call the women from Bear Island to stand by her side. She refused to be one woman in a world of men, especially now that their monarch was going to be a queen.

“Lady Sansa,” Yara said, standing when she saw her. Sansa smiled. Yara still had laughter at her lips, the remnant of a joke she had been sharing before she noticed Sansa. Clearly she was a woman who thrived in a man’s world. Sansa had heard rumours that Lady Yara also thrived in a man’s position in the bed chamber. She put such thoughts out of her mind.

“Lady Yara, it is a great pleasure to see you here,” Sansa said truthfully. “May we speak privately?” Yara agreed with an inclination of her head. She said some parting words to her men before following Sansa out of the room, unfollowed by any of her men. Sansa discussed idle things as they walked to Sansa’s solar, the weather on the Iron Islands compared with Winterfell, the journey, by boat and then by foot and horse. Yara made for a pleasant companion in conversation. She was abrupt, yes, but seemed eminently truthful.

They reached Sansa’s solar quickly. She could hear Tyrion in their chambers so she closed the door that adjoined the two. Tyrion was preparing for a war meeting with Daenerys. Now that Ramsay was dead, it was time to move out, towards the Reach and the next kingdom for Dany to take back. Sansa’s handmaiden poured them each some wine and Sansa raised her glass to Yara, who tapped hers against Sansa.

“I wanted to speak to you about something specific, Lady Yara.” Yara’s face showed interest. As much as Yara had come to ally with Daenerys, Sansa had been hoping that the lady would be willing to ally with Winterfell specifically too, to begin some trade agreements, as there had been once before. However, Sansa would come to that later. This conversation was far more important. “I have news of your brother, Theon.”

Yara froze. “I thought he was dead,” she said in low tones. Sansa could not read her eyes.

Sansa nodded. “I’m afraid he is, though perhaps not in the way you expected. I would like to tell you about his last months.”

“He became more creature than human,” Yara told Sansa and this time Sansa could see the grief in her eyes. “I tried to save him, tried to take him from Ramsay but he refused to come.”

Sansa nodded sadly. “After you tried to do that, he remained with Ramsay. He had gained some trust and Ramsay let him wander around the castle more. I don’t know how much time passed between your attempt and my arrival at Winterfell, but Theon was still Ramsay’s creature when I married Ramsay.” Yara’s eyes narrowed. She had surely heard of Sansa’s marriage, though Sansa truthfully did not know how much news of it had spread outside of the North. 

“My marriage was miserable, as I am sure you can imagine,” Sansa continued, unwilling to go into details with this woman, who was virtually a stranger. “I spoke with Theon most days. I distrusted him at first, of course, because I thought he had killed my brothers. He had betrayed my oldest brother.” Yara’s face was tight though she did not speak. “But, eventually, I started to see how much he had suffered since he had betrayed Robb and, one day, while Ramsay had left to fight Lord Stannis’ troops, Theon and I escaped.”

Yara blinked with surprise. “He escaped?”

Sansa nodded slowly. “We escaped by jumping from the walls of Winterfell. We fled through the woods. I would never have survived without him. He kept me from curling up and choosing to die. He told me stories to keep me awake and keep from succumbing to the cold. It was a few days of this awful journey when we heard horses and Queen Daenerys was there, with my first husband, Tyrion Lannister. Tyrion took us both into Daenerys’ camp and protected us. He gave us food and warmth and, when Theon requested it, a horse for him to return to the Iron Islands.”

Yara began to look reluctant, as though she did not want to hear what came next. “I didn’t want him to leave,” Sansa continued, looking down at her lap. “I wanted us to stay together but I understood that he wanted to return to you, to help you. I didn’t hear from him again. Ramsay reappeared here about a week ago.

“His man held his knife to my throat and he pulled Theon’s head out of a bag to hurt me more.” Yara gasped, a shuttering sound. Her eyes flickered shut. “I don’t know how long Theon had been with Ramsay again or how long he had had to suffer before Ramsay killed him. I only know that he is at peace now.”

“Dead by the hand of Ramsay,” Yara said bitterly, a few moments later. “After all he suffered, he was not even allowed to return to his home.” She looked up, her eyes wet. “What did you do with his - his body?”

Sansa did not say that they had never found his body. “We buried - him in our crypts, with other members of our family.”

Yara did not smile. “I suppose that is fitting. He had hardly lived on the Iron Islands at all.”

Sansa nodded. “I wanted to honour him as best I could. He saved my life.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Yara said, her voice empty of emotion. Sansa impulsively reached across the table for Yara’s hand. Yara looked down at their enclosed hands, her lips quirking upwards just slightly. “I suppose that we must work together, now,” she said, “for Theon.”

Sansa smiled. “For Theon.”

XXX

Brienne awoke slowly, panicking for only a moment before she remembered where she was. In her dream, she had been on Tarth, running the island with the pup she had loved as a child. She had dived from cliffs and run up mountains, sailed around the island like a pirate and ridden her horse until the sun had set and she was too exhausted to return home. Then, in her dream, she had closed her eyes to sleep, just as she had woken up in this world, where she found Jaime a few inches away from her, sleeping sweetly, his lips apart and his breathing soft.

It had been a week since they were married. In most respects, little had changed. They were still together in this room. Jaime was still not allowed to leave, while Brienne was. They did exercise together and Brienne would leave to spar with somebody when she felt her skin between to itch. Jaime had got used to that now and was happy to hear her recollections of duels, especially those that she won, which was most. It evoked a curious lust in him and Brienne often found herself tumbled into bed after she was finished.

The sex was the part that had changed, of course. Before, they had kissed but little more. Now that they were wed, they had broken down any such barrier and lay together more often than most wedded couples, according to Jaime. When he was jovial, he would joke that, even if he could leave the room, he would not for the simple pleasure of being able to have Brienne whenever the mood took them. And Jaime was often jovial.

Brienne had never expected the marital bed to be so satisfying. Her septa had told her all sorts of lies that Jaime had, one by one, struck down as falsehoods. He was a very generous man, though Brienne had none to compare him to. For all she knew, Jaime was very poor and selfish. But Brienne thought not. She had been in war camps. She had heard men speak of the things they liked in the bedroom and none of them had ever particularly spoken of the things that they did with their own mouths, that Jaime professed to love to do to her.

Gradually, Brienne’s nerves about sex began to disappear. Jaime was kind and soft and did whatever Brienne pleased. There was little doubt in Brienne’s mind that she had been thoroughly blessed by the gods when she was given Jaime Lannister.

“What are you thinking about?” she heard come from Jaime’s mouth, his voice gravelly with sleep. His eyes were lidded and his hair a mess as he looked upon her. Brienne had to smile. He was an attractive sight at any time of the day, but she thought that her favourite version of Jaime was this one: just awoken and face clear of any thoughts or emotions.

Rather than answer his question, Brienne bent to kiss him on the lips, softly and lingeringly, the way he kissed her when she returned from sparring. She pulled away, her eyes tracing his face. At the corners of his eyes were wrinkles and the hair at his beard was greying in a way it had not been when they first met, but he was absolutely perfect and absolutely hers. “What was that for?” he asked.

Brienne grinned and swung her body over his, enjoying the shocked noise that emerged from him. He smirked up at her, green eyes narrowed and dark. “For waking up,” she responded, before leaning down and bestowing upon him another kiss - and another, and another.

XXX

Daenerys felt almost shy as she crept into the corridor where she knew that Jon Snow’s chambers were. She was meeting with her advisors and she wanted him to be one of them too. His experience in the Night’s Watch was one factor but the trust she had automatically felt in him was another. She had felt a similar way when she had first spoken with Tyrion, a sort of trust that she couldn’t explain, and he had turned out to be very loyal indeed.

She had been told that Jon Snow spent his early evenings, after dinner, reading with his younger brother and often his sister, if she were not with her husband to be. His chamber was pointed out to her by one of the guards who had accompanied her. Guards generally knew whose chamber was whose, in case of an emergency. 

Knocking twice, Daenerys tried not to fidget as she waited for the door to open. She was generally not so nervous when she approached anyone with a request. She was the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms and she had a right to ask for whatever pleased her. However, Jon was different. She knew that he was an honest man and, provided he found her request honourable, he would fulfil it for her. What Daenerys wanted was that he wanted to join because he wanted to - help her. Daenerys wasn’t sure what the right word was. She wanted more than that he wanted to serve her. She had thousands of men willing to serve her. She wanted him to want to for the simple reason of wanting to, not out of a duty or a loyalty, but out of a like for her, a longing for her presence, out of an attraction, perhaps.

She put those thoughts aside. They only made her more nervous.

Jon arrived at his door himself. Daenerys subdued her smile, wondering when the last time she had opened her own door was. Jon Snow was a simple man, with a bastard’s roots and tendencies. “Your grace,” he said, surprise lacing his Northern accent. Daenerys smiled.

“I have come to ask a favour, Jon,” she said. When she had asked what to call him, unsure of the protocol for a bastard of a lord, who had once been the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch but was no longer, Jon had told her to simply call him by his first name. Despite Daenerys’ wish that he do the same for her, he continually called her ‘your grace’. It irritated Daenerys as it reminded her of the difference in their stations.

“A favour, your grace?”

Daenerys inclined her head. “May I come in?”

Jon glanced behind him before he allowed her entrance. She left her men at the door. If Sansa Stark could spend her nights in the chambers of a man without too much judgement, Daenerys could step inside a man’s chambers for a few moments without a chaperone.

“Who is it?” a small voice asked from the bed. Daenerys had to smile at the sight of Rickon Stark’s head peeking out from the covers. She smiled at the young boy. She had not often seen him since his arrival at Winterfell but, when she asked Jon for details of him, he was always reported to be well.

“It’s just me, Rickon,” she said softly. “I’m sorry to disturb your sleep.”

“I don’t sleep much,” the boy said. Daenerys wondered how old he was. She glanced at Jon at his statement and saw him looking at his half-brother with pity. “There are people chasing me in my dreams.”

“He sleeps with me,” Jon said gruffly. “It’s the only way he’ll get any sleep at all. He told me that the only way he used to sleep was with Osha.”

Daenerys felt guilt bubble in her stomach. If only she had been able to track down Ramsay earlier, before he had killed the woman who had so aptly cared for the youngest Stark. “I won’t disturb you then,” Daenerys said, meeting Jon’s eyes and turning back towards the door. Her wish for Jon’s presence and advice was not as important as Rickon’s wellbeing.

His hand caught her arm, causing her to start and look up. He had probing eyes. “What did you want, your grace?” he asked, his gravelly tone and the feel of his hand on her bicep sending shivers down her spine.

She cleared her throat. “I only wished to ask you to join my council. I would value your advice, but I do not wish to take you from your brother. If you wish to accept, we could have lunch together tomorrow and you could give me your opinion on some things.”

Jon smiled slightly, as much happiness as Dany ever saw on his face. “I will see you at lunch tomorrow then, your grace.”

Dany found herself smiling too, almost subconsciously. “My solar will be waiting, at midday.” Jon inclined his head. “Oh, and Jon?” He hummed, raising his eyebrows. “Please, call me Daenerys.”

“Of course, your grace,” he responded smoothly, a sparkle in her eyes. Shaking her head in amusement, Dany left, glancing back only once, to see Jon stroking back his brother’s hair.

XXX

Sansa arrived in the courtyard in a state of shock, Jon at her heels. The sentries had received news of an approaching army and had brought Sansa up to speed right away. Surely enough, Sansa and Jon had watched the steady though small trail of men coming towards Winterfell from the ramparts. Immediately, they had called their men to action, Jon going to inform the queen of the goings on and Sansa sending various messengers around the castle, before meeting in the courtyard a few moments later.

The army was growing closer. According to Jon’s more practised eyes, there could hardly be a thousand men. Daenerys’ troops would overwhelm them easily. It was so suspicious that, though they did not call off their men along the walls, armed with crossbows, Sansa and Jon felt certain that they would be allies, though whose men they were was a mystery.

“Perhaps they are from Riverrun,” Sansa suggested. She had written to her uncle the Blackfish many times but had received no response. The last thing she had heard was that no news was getting into or out of the castle, the whole area under a Frey siege. Even so, there was always a way. Perhaps her uncle had sent her these thousand, as a token of family allegiance or as a suggestion to Daenerys that he would be on her side, should she come and take Riverrun.

Or perhaps it was not her uncle at all. Lord Baelish was still in the Reach and Sansa supposed that he considered them to be allies, though Sansa herself considered him to be among the lowest scum of men, with too much thought to the political consequences of his actions to care about the people they hurt along the way. She clenched her jaw, praying to as many gods as she could think of that these men were not of the Reach.

Soon enough, the flags became clearer, their colours revealing themselves to be blue and pink. Sansa narrowed her eyes. She was not as knowledgeable as she could have been on family sigils. It was not considered a worthwhile education for a girl to know the sigils outside of her kingdom, though she knew many from her time in King’s Landing and from visits at Winterfell. This sigil she did know, though it had never appeared at court, nor was it a Northern flag.

That flag was the sigil of Tarth.

And, upon the horses that led the procession, was a huge man that could only have been Brienne’s father and, next to him, a tall man, one Sansa recognised as a boy she had known once, someone she had not believed had survived the events that had led to both her and Tyrion’s fleeing from King’s Landing: Podrick Payne.


	16. Chapter 16

Brienne left her chambers without armour on, a rarity given that the only reason she really ever left Jaime was to spar. They ate and bathed in their rooms and there was never anything that Brienne wanted to leave Jaime for, save to spar. As soon as she left, even for that, her skin itched to be back with him. Sansa may have called her soft but Brienne knew that it wasn’t that. She and Jaime were just newlyweds and they’d been apart for a long time beforehand. A few weeks of constantly being together was never going to be enough to sate their longing for each other.

Overtaking the messenger that had come to collect her, Brienne raced down the steps to the courtyard. She could see the Tarth banners everywhere, in the distance and within the walls of Winterfell. It felt somewhat like a dream, like a collision of two lives.

That feeling only intensified when she saw her father standing with Podrick Payne. Brienne was crying before the thought really hit her. Podrick was alive. She had not caused his death, had not given him up to a torturous end to his life. He was alive and in front of her and, before she even greeted the man who had raised her and made her the woman she was, she had her squire in her arms, his head higher on her body than it had been previously.

“I missed you too,” Podrick said against her shoulder. Brienne chuckled wetly. She had not been pleased by the addition of Podrick to her quest at first, had wished him away, privately, more times than she could have counted, but he was a good man, a good squire and he was alive. Her heart raced. She wanted to tell Jaime. She wanted him to be here with her. She hated that he was locked up in their chambers when he should have been here celebrating with her, hated that the rest of the world could not see that he was loyal and true.

“Are you going to hug me at any point, dearheart?” a voice behind her said. Brienne’s heart lit up. The moment that the messenger had informed her that her father had arrived, Brienne had been able to believe it. It was a surprise, but not necessarily a shock. Her father had been her closest friend, a constant support, and she’d known he’d leave Tarth the moment that he found out that she was being held.

Gratitude swelled inside her as she pulled away from Podrick and fell into her father’s arms. Her tears had dried now, most of them having spilled against Podrick’s hair. Part of her wondered who was watching them, who was judging her for her overspill of emotions, but she decided she didn’t care. She had never thought she would see her father again, never thought she would see her squire again. This was a good day.

“The second your squire arrived, we left,” her father said quietly against her hair. “He told us you were being held, so we came. I’m only sorry we didn’t get here sooner, dearheart.”

Brienne shook her head, pulling back so that she could look at her father. “Queen Daenerys freed me when she arrived and Jaime came, too. He would have saved me if she had not.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed. “Jaime?” he repeated. Brienne smiled and then bit her lip, glancing at Podrick, whose eyes showed no surprise. There were more people in the courtyard. Sansa met her eyes and nodded, tilting her head to the castle, where Brienne could introduce her father to Jaime. Smiling at Sansa with gratitude as she started to organise the small army that Brienne’s father had brought with him, Brienne dragged her father and her squire off, to meet her husband.

XXX

Brienne knocked before entering, in case Jaime was bathing or changing. He called, “Come in.” Brienne entered, hardly able to keep her smile from her face. She had never thought she would introduce her father to Jaime. They had lived in separate worlds in her mind and she had never thought that they would collide.

They entered, Podrick heading in before Brienne and Lord Selwyn. Brienne saw the look on Jaime’s face as he saw Pod. “Podrick Payne,” he said with fondness, his eyes then darting to look at Brienne who he grinned at and then at the man beside her. There was nobody who would not recognise Lord Selwyn as Brienne’s father, especially when they were standing so closely together. She watched Jaime’s face drop and nearly snorted.

“Jaime Lannister,” her father said, as though connecting two points in a puzzle. She wondered if he had even considered that Jaime could be the Jaime Lannister when she had mentioned his name. Brienne grasped her father’s forearm, looking up at him ever so slightly. His face betrayed no emotion. “I hear you came to rescue my daughter.”

“I did, my lord,” Jaime said, his face clear of emotion too. Podrick met Brienne’s eyes, amusement written all over his face. He raised his eyebrows at her, tilting his head slightly at Jaime in question. Brienne blushed, ducking her head.

Her father was glancing about the chamber. Brienne knew that it was incredibly obvious that she lived there too but remembered with a start that she had only told her father that Jaime came to save her, not that he was her husband.

“Father,” she started, waiting to continue until her father was fully focussed on her. “Jaime and I are married.”

His eyes bugged comically. Brienne bit her lip, glancing at Jaime, the corners of her lips twitching upwards. “Married?” her father repeated, looking between them with something akin to horror. Brienne swallowed, wondering what stories her father had heard about Jaime. She knew that he knew him as the Kingslayer, as most people did, but Brienne didn’t mind that. She knew the truth. The rumour that Brienne almost hoped her father did not know of, or did not believe, was that of Cersei and the children. She could not imagine that even her father could get past a man who had fathered his sister’s children.

Brienne let go of her father’s arm and went to stand by Jaime. She was suddenly conscious of how rumpled the sheets on the bed were and wished she had thought to make the bed that morning. She did not want her father imagining what went on in their bed. The thought made her blush, drawing a quizzical look from Jaime. She shook her head slightly, smiling at him.

Her father’s horror had faded by the time she looked up at him again. He was smiling. “I’m happy for you, dearheart.” Brienne smiled. “I must say that I never thought I would see the day that you married anybody, never mind Jaime Lannister.” Jaime snorted. Brienne gave him a dirty look. He only smirked at her. “We will have to have dinner together tonight, so that I can get to know your husband better.”

Brienne smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “We can have it here,” she said, as though there were any other choice. She would not tell her father that her husband was banned from leaving his rooms yet, giving him a bit of time to get past the Kingslayer part of him first.

“I’d like to rest a while first, Brienne. Would you show me to some rooms?” he asked. Brienne was reminded that he had ridden hard to get here. She nodded hastily.

“Let’s go and find Sansa. I’ll find rooms for you both.” Brienne looked again at her squire. “And you should go and find Lord Tyrion, Podrick. He’ll be desperate to see you.”

XXX

Jon cleared his throat as he entered Daenerys’ solar, one of her Unsullied guards allowing him entrance. The queen looked up from some papers on the table and he was treated to the lovely sight of her smile, burgeoning out of a look of severity. Her eyes were brighter and Jon suddenly wondered if perhaps it was not just him who felt the charge between them.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, standing. She reached for a wine jug, on a table by the window. Jon had hardly ever entered this room. It had once been Catelyn’s solar and Daenerys herself was using the chambers that were supposedly for Catelyn’s use. Of course, unlike most high-born couples, Catelyn and his father had shared a set of chambers so the bed that Daenerys now slept in had gone almost entirely unused.

Handing him the wine herself felt personal to Jon. She was the queen, so she had all right to have somebody do such a simple task for her. But she hadn’t. She had poured Jon a glass of wine and then poured one for herself, before taking her seat again and gesturing for him to sit down.

“The kitchens are going to deliver our food in a few minutes,” Daenerys informed him. Jon smiled. “I wanted to talk to you, though. I had a meeting with Ser Jorah this morning. If you didn’t know, he is of the Mormont family.” Jon nodded. He had known, had studied the man’s features to find any of Jeor Mormont in him, had held his sword with dubious guilt, wondering whether he should return the family heirloom to the man’s son. And, every time he thought of it, he remembered his Lord Commander’s words about his son and decided to keep it. After all, it had been the Commander’s wish. “I’ve not spoken to Lady Sansa about this yet. I wanted to garner your approval first.” Jon raised his brows. “We wondered about contacting the Mormonts.”

Jon’s immediate reaction to the idea was that it was a smart idea. The Mormonts, who ruled Bear Island, were few but ferocious. There were no finer soldiers in the North than those who came from Bear Island. There had been four Mormont sisters that Jon remembered. Two had died with Robb at the Twins and a third had died in childbirth, leaving a young daughter and a young sister. The Mormonts had chosen the young sister to rule, a supposedly fierce girl, named for Jon’s aunt, Lyanna Stark.

Jon thought about it further. So far, the principal allies of Daenerys’ were the Starks, principally led by Sansa, the Greyjoys, led by Lady Yara, and, if this were the case, the Mormonts, led by yet another woman. It was not that Jon thought that women could not rule. On the contrary, he thought that Sansa was doing a far better job of ruling Winterfell than he could have done and Yara Greyjoy was without doubt a stronger candidate for the job than Theon would have been. Daenerys, too, was, in Jon’s mind, the only person in the Seven Kingdoms who was qualified to take the throne and there was no part of him that thought that her gender held her back, though others would.

And it was the others’ opinions that concerned Jon. An invading force made up principally of women as leaders might be mocked, might be avoided. Jon could imagine that many of the Northern lords who had yet to respond to Daenerys’ call to arms were doing so because she was a woman, and a Targaryen to boot. Jon sighed.

“You are going to say what Lord Tyrion said,” Daenerys said preemptively. Jon quirked an eyebrow. “No man will want to follow so many women.”

Jon cleared his throat, leaning forward. “I would not say no man,” he hedged. “I would happily follow so many women.” Daenerys’ lips twitched, from pleasure or amusement. Jon couldn’t tell. “But, yes, I think there are men who would not follow an army led by mainly women.”

“Even if Ser Jorah and Lord Tyrion are my principal advisors?”

Jon sighed. “Ser Jorah is an exile, convicted of slaving, and Lord Tyrion is a dwarf, who few men respect, despite his intellect.”

Daenerys nodded slowly. “What would you suggest?”

Jon glanced at the door, as it opened to let the servers in. He allowed them to place the food down in front of them, meeting eyes with the queen and then looking away. He did not want to betray any plans to the servants. One could never know who had been bought and who was loyal.

“I would suggest you find some big male allies first. The Umbers are following you, though you would not want a young inexperienced man as another leader.” Daenerys shook her head.

“Who is there to ask?” Daenerys asked, frustration in her voice. She started to dig into her meal. “Lady Olenna is an option, especially now that she must hate Cersei.” Jon bowed his head. The news of the wildfire attack on the Great Sept in King’s Landing had been a shock, as had the news of King Tommen’s suicide and Queen Cersei’s coronation. Jon had heard the news from Sansa, who was upset by her friend Queen Margaery’s death. She had told him that Lord Tyrion had gone to inform his brother.

The thought spurred something in Jon. “There is another here, a man who could control vast armies.”

Daenerys narrowed her eyes. “Who?”

Jon grinned, meeting her eyes. “You’re going to have to take a risk.”

XXX

The queen’s arrival was unexpected and not exactly timely. Brienne had barely returned from showing her father to his room when Tyrion arrived, his face grave, bearing the news of a massacre at Cersei’s hands, the king’s suicide and a coronation that had immediately caused Jaime to find the chamberpot and vomit. Tyrion had left them to it and, an hour later, when Jaime’s eyes were red from crying and Brienne had no idea what to do to make any of it better like he made things better for her, the queen arrived.

Brienne invited her into the chambers. It still smelled vaguely of sick and the crying was obvious on Jaime’s face and in his voice. Even so, he was polite and courteous, more so than Brienne ever remembered seeing him being. She supposed that he did not want the queen to think he was crying for the downfall of his family when, in truth, it was for the death of his son and the final evidence of his sister’s corruption. Brienne’s heart broke just from watching him.

“I’ve come to tell you something,” Daenerys said, her voice stilted. Brienne narrowed her eyes, petrified that she had taken something from the story of the King’s Landing massacre that they missed. Was she going to find a way to blame this on Jaime? Would they be cast out of Winterfell? Her heart raced with the possibilities. They would go to Tarth, with her father’s army, and they would be happy there, but Brienne wanted to be a part of this new world, of its creation -

“If you are willing, I want you to call your banners and fight with me.” She directed her comment at Jaime.

Heart in her throat, Brienne asked slowly, “And if he is not willing?”

She truly didn’t know how willing he was. Daenerys opened her mouth to speak but Jaime cut her off, “I’ll call them. I want to fight for you.” Daenerys did not smile, nor scowl, though something changed in her eyes. “Out of curiosity, your grace, what changed?”

Daenerys looked down, her cheeks pinking slightly. Brienne furrowed her brow and Daenerys shook her braid from her shoulder to rest on her back. “I never stationed guards outside of your chamber, Lord Jaime.” The new title made Brienne cringe. She preferred him to be called Ser, a reminder of his honour, his knighthood. Jaime did not flinch. “Why did you not leave?”

Jaime swallowed obviously, glancing at Brienne. “I’m counting on you, Lord Jaime. Do not let me down.”

With a fiery look, Daenerys left, leaving them bewildered but hopeful. Jaime grinned at Brienne and approached, placing his hand softly on her cheek and pulling her in for a short, passionate kiss. Brienne pulled away, feeling heat flood her body.

“What was that for?” she asked breathlessly.

Jaime smirked, beginning to back her towards the bed. “I’m free,” he said, pushing at her slightly. Brienne fell willingly back onto the bed. He clambered between her legs.

“Mmhmm,” Brienne said between kisses. “And you want to celebrate by staying in?”

Jaime nodded, moving his lips to her neck. “By shagging you, yes,” he corrected. Brienne laughed, swinging her legs around his hips. “And then we can go to my brother’s wedding.” Brienne felt her face light up, her eyes widening at the realisation. They would both be able to see Tyrion get married.

“And then what?” Brienne asked as Jaime tried and failed to undo her shirt laces.

Jaime pulled back, watching lustfully as Brienne removed her shirt. His eyes remained on her breasts as he said, “and then, home.”

XXX

Brienne fiddled with her dress, trying to push the pleats out of it. Though she had worn armour to her own wedding, she had not been able to for Sansa and Tyrion’s, for proprietary reasons. This wedding was a larger event than her own, too, and it would have seemed very odd. She did not massively dislike the dress. It was one of the best she had ever worn, though that was not a huge statement. Jaime had liked it, too.

Brienne glanced up from her dress, to see Jaime dancing with Sansa in the centre of the room, surrounded by other pairs. They were talking, smiling even. Brienne was glad that Sansa had accepted when Jaime had asked her to dance. He was her goodbrother now that she had married Tyrion and Brienne knew that they would get on, if Sansa could see past his past. Sansa looked positively radiant out there, glowing with the joy of her marriage. Across the room, talking to Ser Jorah, Tyrion looked just as happy. 

“He looked far better dancing with you,” a voice said from behind her. Brienne smiled as her father took his seat next to her.

“I doubt that,” Brienne said.

Her father chuckled. “You are a much better dancer than you were once and I should know. You stepped on my toes more times than I could count.” Brienne gave her a father a glare. “Jaime was glowing when he was dancing with you, not just smiling like he is with her.”

“I know,” Brienne said quietly. She then turned to look at her father in the eyes. “Do you like him?” She had yet to ask him the question. There hadn’t been the time. After the dinner they had eaten together the night before, Jaime had swept her back off to bed and she hadn’t seen her father again until the wedding. He had been meeting with Daenerys, to talk of an agreement to use his archers and navymen who he had brought with him.

Her father sighed. “I didn’t want to like him.”

“But you do?” she asked hopefully.

“He makes you smile.”

Brienne smiled then, practically beaming and darting her eyes to where Jaime was making Sansa giggle by spinning her around rapidly on the dance floor. “I’m glad-”

“I know about the children,” her father interrupted her. Brienne froze. “I know he had an affair with his sister and fathered her children. I assume you didn’t want me to know.”

Brienne cleared her throat, turning to him. “That’s the past now.”

Her father hummed. “I- Brienne, he seems a very good match for you and I am glad you are happy. If it doesn’t bother you, I suppose it shouldn’t bother me either, though it makes me retch.”

Brienne winced. “I know,” she said quietly. “But-”

Her father shook her head. “Don’t, Brienne. I don’t want to know anything about it. I’m going to get past it, to try not to think about it, because, all in all, I think he is a good man and there are good qualities in him.”

“But you’d rather I married someone else.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Her father shook his head, surprising her. “All I ever wanted was a man who looked at you like you hung the moon and stars and he looks at you like that and more. I wanted a man who loves you and he certainly does. All I’m saying, dearheart, is that it will take me more than a few days to forget about - about his past.”

Brienne swallowed, nodding. She understood that. “Thank you for trying.”

Her father placed his hand on her arm. “Always.”

XXX


	17. Chapter 17

The morning after her third wedding, Sansa woke up happy. She woke up sore and delightfully so. She woke up without pain, without fear. She woke up to safety and certainty. It was an indescribable feeling.

Some would say that it was the way that any woman expected to wake up after their wedding. Sansa supposed that that was true, but, for her, this was exceptional; this was not what she had come to expect and it was earth-shaking. It was what her father had promised her, a marriage that she deserved, with a good and honest man.

Sansa’s eyes traced her husband’s face, the imperfect, rather misshapen face of the man who she loved, more completely than she had ever loved another human being. It was impossible to think that she had gone so long not knowing his love. If she could turn back time, she would never have left King’s Landing. She would have fled the continent with him, met Daenerys with him. They could have saved each other so much pain, if they’d only been willing to feel something for the other.

Smiling, she reached across to touch Tyrion’s skin. She could feel his cheek bones beneath the soft pads of her fingers. It didn’t take long of this, of her touching the skin of his face and moving down to his neck and collarbone, until he woke up, his eyes fluttering open slowly. She watched the emotions that cycled through his eyes, watched the way he was confused and then excited - his pupils dilated in a way that told Sansa that she was beautiful - and then, finally, his eyes turned to her with love, with the memory of their wedding, the beautiful ceremony, the wonderful feast and the night of touches and gasps and love.

“Good morning,” he said finally. Sansa smiled earnestly, bringing her hand to his cheek and cupping it.

“Good morning, husband,” she whispered before kissing him. “Did you sleep well?” She pulled away and didn’t let him answer the question before leaning forward and kissing him again.

“Very well,” he responded when she let him. “How could I not, with the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms in my bed?” Sansa grinned and pressed her body closer to his. “Keep doing that, Sansa, and we won’t leave this bed all day.”

Sansa bit her lip and leaned forward, kissing him slowly, languorously. “Why would I want to leave your bed, husband?”

Tyrion smirked and he pushed his body towards her so that she could feel every inch of him. “I suppose you’re right, wife.”

XXX

Later in the day, the sun was at its crest, shining irritatingly into Sansa’s eyes. She stood and wandered to the window, pulling a loose gown around her, feeling Tyrion’s eyes following her. She glanced into the courtyard, pleased when she found Brienne sparring with Jaime. Jaime’s arrival at their wedding last night had been most welcome, a great surprise for Tyrion and Sansa had done her best to make it even better, dancing with the man who she would have to grow to like. He had made her laugh last night, a lot. For all of their faults, the Lannisters made her laugh.

“Come and look, Tyrion,” Sansa summoned, perching herself on the window seat. Her bare legs were visible but she was fairly certain that nobody was watching, all too concerned with Jaime and Brienne’s sparring.

“Am I coming to look at your legs?” Tyrion asked, waddling over. “Or is it just the rest of Winterfell that gets that privilege?” Sansa tapped his head as he shuffled over to her, sitting on the other side of the window seat, in only his trousers.

“No, it’s Jaime and Brienne, sparring.”

Tyrion snorted, his eyes finding what Sansa was watching. She watched him appreciate the sight. “She definitely tops him,” he commented lightly.

Sansa’s eyes widened, turning to her husband. “Don’t be so crass, Tyrion.”

“Don’t be such a prude, wife,” Tyrion countered with a wink. “I’m sure he loves it.”

Sansa wrinkled her nose, her eyes back on Brienne soundly beating her husband. “You’re talking about your brother.”

“In our family, sex is a very open thing.” Wide-eyed, Sansa’s eyes found her husband again and he snorted. “Sorry, you have to laugh about it.”

“About your siblings fucking, yes, of course,” Sansa commented with a snort.

“I like hearing you say the word fucking,” Tyrion said, amused. Sansa gave him an unamused look. “I wanted to talk to you, my love.”

Sansa quirked an eyebrow. “Your soft tone makes me nervous.”

Tyrion looked affronted. “Do I usually speak harshly to you?”

Sansa grinned at him. “You usually call me wife, not my love. I imagine that’s what Brienne calls Jaime.” Tyrion snorted. “So, what’s wrong?”

Tyrion sighed. “Lord Baelish.” Sansa stiffened immediately, remembering the way he had left her, remembering the kiss, the murder of her aunt. The sudden rush of memories made her throat dry.

“What about him?”

“Are you nervous about confronting him?”

“He can’t sell me in marriage again. I have nothing to be nervous about.”

Sansa’s tone sounded false, even to her own ears. “Sansa,” Tyrion said and Sansa held her hand up. She couldn’t bear the pity in her husband’s eyes or tone. She moved her head so that she couldn’t see him, focused only on Brienne pulling Jaime up from the ground. “You know that I will always protect you, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Sansa snapped. Tyrion’s hand on her cheek forced her to turn to him. He looked at her gravely. “Tyrion, we must be the only couple on the continent who are discussing politics the day after their wedding.” They both knew that it was more than politics but Tyrion did not say anything, which Sansa was grateful for. “Come on, let’s go back to bed. Brienne and Jaime are disappearing and I’d hate to be outdone by them.”

Tyrion snorted, standing. “Only my brother would get turned on by a woman beating him.” Sansa gave Tyrion a disgusted look as she too stood and headed over to the bed. “You must be the only woman in Westeros who finds me more attractive than him, you know.”

Sansa laughed, raising her brows. “Let me prove how much I do.”

XXX

Jon stared at the sky, the black stripe zooming underneath the clouds sending jolts of happiness through his entire body. At first, it had been mixed with nerves. After all, he had only just got Rickon back in his life and now he was soaring through the sky, on the back of a dragon. But, as he watched, he realised that he trusted the queen and knew that her hands would be tight around Rickon and that she knew what she was doing.

She did know what she was doing. The news that Daenerys Targaryen had landed in Westeros was spreading fast, though it had only been a rumour before Jon arrived at Winterfell. He had been surprised to find it true. The dragon queen was a name spoken in hushed whispers over the continent and only seeing her had made him understand why.

She was short and pretty, the sort of woman that men would call a whore or a wife, would dismiss as a simple woman, if it had not been for the hardness in her eyes, for the way her voice was when she commanded men, for the way that men followed her word to the letter. She was beautiful but it was the power that she held, that radiated from her body that made her magnificent, that made men want to follow her. Many men, many Northern men, spoke of the lack of previous reigning queens, until they met her, until they understood the way she was, the person she had become, despite the hardships that life had dealt her. She was magnificent and Jon could not honestly say that there was anybody better equipped to be ruler of Westeros.

And, on top of all of that, she was kind. Beneath the power that she exuded, there was a soft kindness that made her offer a dragon ride to a broken, mourning little boy, a goodness that made her invite a dwarf, a banished nobleman and a bastard to her small council, a forgiveness that had her show goodness to the man who killed her father, to the wife of her enemy, to a woman who was ready to kill her for threatening the man she loved. Lord Tyrion, Ser Jorah, Jon himself, Jaime Lannister, Sansa, Brienne, they could all speak to the kindness.

And the slaves that she had freed, well, the kindness she showed there was only matched by the power that she had control of, that had given her the ability to free them. She was surrounded by clever and strong men, yes, but, even without them, Jon knew that she would not have been nothing, could never have been nothing.

The black stripe in the sky was approaching, getting larger by the second, until Jon could see Daenerys and Rickon distinctly, both smiling, both windswept and flushed from the cold. Jon could only smile. His heart beat faster as they landed. He remembered the man who watched Daenerys with such passion and lust, a man that men claimed had shared Daenerys’ bedchambers for months. The thought made him grow cold, reminded him of his place and his relationship with the queen. He was a bastard and even a bastard who served as her advisor was not allowed to harbour such feelings for the queen, was not allowed to feel such warmth in her presence, especially when she was already with another.

Rickon came running towards Jon, shouting about the dragon, while Daenerys watched, a fond look in her eyes, which watched Jon and Rickon, even while she spoke with her dragon, her child. Jon scooped Rickon up into his arms, a task that was becoming harder by the day, as he grew and strengthened.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said with a smile to his brother. Rickon nodded eagerly and then wriggled until Jon set him down.

“I have to go and tell Shaggydog,” he said, panting from the exertion of being so excited. Jon grinned and let his brother run off. “See you later, Jon, Dany,” he called as he dashed away.

“Dany,” Jon repeated, eyebrows raised as he approached the dragon queen. She ducked her head, returning to the dragon that she was stroking. Jon put his hand next to hers, meeting her eyes.

“He couldn’t pronounce Daenerys,” she said with a shrug. “It’s a difficult name.” Jon hummed with a nod. She looked up. “You could call me Dany, too, if you’d like, when we’re - only when we’re alone.”

Her eyes were bright and wide, from the rush of flying a dragon, probably, but maybe from something else too. Perhaps she liked spending time with him as much as he liked being with her. Rather than answer her, he leaned forward impulsively, crashing their lips together in a sudden, passionate embrace. She stiffened at first but then she leaned into it and she swung her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Jon’s heart raced. He never wanted to stop.

But stop they did, after a few moments, weeks, years. He pulled away, panting, and pushed their foreheads together. “Sorry,” he said breathlessly. “You’re my queen- I shouldn’t have-”

Dany shook her head, smiling. Her teeth were perfect, her lips full and attractive. “Don’t apologise,” she said before claiming his lips for her own again.

XXX

Fleabottom was a welcome sight as Gendry stumbled back, after a long day of work in the forge. All of his muscles protested. His home was not too far away, a room that he shared with a few other apprentices in a house that he shared with many. Still, it was a good place to hide. Nobody knew that he was here, which was exactly what Ser Davos had wanted when he had saved him from death.

Rather than head to the house immediately, however, Gendry turned, pushing through a door into the tavern that he preferred, where he could eat in peace, but also receive whatever news was coming in from all over Westeros. He was waiting. He’d always been waiting. For what, he didn’t know, but he still waited. One day, it would come.

He sat down with a bowl of stew and bread. The money that he earned at the forge meant that he could purchase a stew of which he knew the contents, rather than a bowl o’ brown, which was the cheaper and more worrying alternative. He dug into his rabbit stew and perked his ears up to listen and try to learn.

There was no news for a while and it was not until he had finished his bowl that he saw movement, excited movement, at the bar. Walking slowly as he returned the bowl and cutlery to the bar, he listened and pieced together the story.

A ghost walked at the Twins, the ancestral home of the Freys. A ghost walked and it killed. The Freys, every one of them, were dead. The Freys who were despised by some and respected by others for their awful role in the Red Wedding, the murder of the Starks.

Gendry’s heart began to race. He heard a small voice in the back of his mind, one he heard often. He heard it swear to kill every enemy of her family, to kill every person who caused them harm.

Over the years, he had wondered whether she was alive and a small part of him had known that she was, even while the rest of him mourned her absence. Part of her lived in him, her smile perhaps, or her stubbornness. Whatever it was, it reminded him of her every day, reminded him how much he missed her, and, this, for the first time in years, was proof that she lived.

Gendry grinned. Arya Stark was alive.

XXX

“Jon,” Sansa started, striding into Jon’s chambers. Jon did not look surprised to see her. “I want to discuss Winterfell with you.”

Jon nodded, cocking his head to the side. “You want to lead here.”

Sansa was not shocked by her brother’s understanding of why she had come to see him. He, like her, had surely been thinking of this with some frequency. They rode out to the Vale the next day and, despite her reservations, Sansa was riding too. She knew that she held a power over Baelish and it was important to her to face him, to face her fears, else they would one day consume her.

“Rickon cannot,” Sansa said.

Jon’s nod was severe. “I’m not sure that he is - right in the head.” Sansa swallowed and agreed. “You’ve earned it, Sansa. You married into this place, even when it was stolen from us. You should have something, as a compensation, as a -”

Sansa interrupted him, “And Bran?”

Jon sighed. “If he’s alive, which I hope he is, then we will decide what to do when he returns.”

“Then, we are agreed?” she asked, an eyebrow quirked. She had hoped it would be this simple. She knew that she and Tyrion were the right people to do this, to lead the North through the Winter. Jon inclined his head. “You will speak with Daenerys.” It was a statement more than a question but Jon agreed anyhow.

“You will be Lady of Winterfell and Lord Tyrion will rule at your side.” Sansa smiled. “Will you rule as Lady Stark or Lady Lannister?” His tone was curious and slightly teasing. Sansa’s smile turned into a scowl.

“Lady Stark. No Northerner would accept a Lannister as their lady.”

“And, yet, that is what they will be doing.”

Sansa met his eyes and smiled. She, like Brienne, had no shame in being a Lannister. They would create a new generation of Lannisters, who were not evil tyrants like Cersei and who did not fuck each other.

“Thank you, Jon,” Sansa said sincerely. Half of Jon’s mouth twitched upwards.

XXX


	18. Chapter 18

Daenerys stared at the fabric of her tent, where two pieces of it met. It had come with her from Essos and had been repaired twice already, against the differing climate of Westeros. The North had battered all of their tents and Daenerys had had to ask for Northern women to help with the repairs, as she had brought few women across from Essos and even fewer of her men knew how to work with fabric. Sansa had been very efficient in sending her help.

Sansa had been a revelation. Dany had not ever had a female adviser, unless she counted Missandei. Missandei was her closest friend but she knew little about tactics. Her main role within Dany’s council was cultural, particularly with languages, but she understood cultures in general very well. So, it was perhaps inaccurate to say that Dany had never had a female adviser. But she had never had another noble lady who she trusted enough to advise her.

Dany trusted Sansa. At first, she had been doubtful, as anybody would be, when greeted with the wife of one’s enemy, but Sansa had proven her worth, proven her political acumen and become Dany’s friend, as well as marrying Dany’s closest adviser.

Every time Dany thought about the original plan to arrive at Westeros - to land on Dragonstone and not in the North - she squirmed with discomfort. She could not imagine not having come to the North first, to save Sansa, to defeat Ramsay Bolton in her first significant victory and to meet Jon Snow.

Oh, Dany knew that Tyrion had suggested they land in the North because he knew that Sansa was in danger, rather than it necessarily being the perfect landing point for an attack. She knew that he felt loyalty to his wife and Dany understood that, though she did prickle with resentment at the idea that he had risked her victory for his own gains. But the risk had paid off and, in fact, it had been very successful. They had arrived, been victorious and now they were continuing on with the Northerners’ support.

Dany lay her hands flat on her lap. Sansa and Jon Snow had been key to earning the Northern support. If they had not led the way, Dany was not sure that other Northerners would have followed, but they had. The Mormont women had sworn to Dany and many other of the Northern houses, too, had sent their men to march south. Dany hoped that it was because they liked the idea of her having the throne but she knew that it likely had a lot to do with not liking Cersei too. There had been an influx of men after they had learned of King Tommen and Queen Margaery’s deaths and Cersei’s coronation.

With a sigh, Dany stood. She had come in to rest a while before dinner. Her Dothraki soldiers were hunting this day, the Northerners the next and the Unsullied the day after that. A bit of healthy competition was good. It ensured that the soldiers brought back enough for all of the troops. Their pride meant that they always wanted to beat however much the previous set of soldiers had brought back the previous day.

Before Dany could leave her tent, the curtains ruffled and revealed Daario to her. Dany swallowed. In his face, she could see the anger and resentment that the past few weeks had grown inside him. She had ignored him, had realised that she didn’t love him, had kissed Jon Snow, not that Daario knew that last one.

“Daario,” Dany said with a heavy sigh. She had put this conversation off for too long. It had been weak to bring Daario and the Second Sons to Westeros.

“No,” he said before she could speak.

Dany shook her head. “Daario, I need you to go home and secure Meereen.”

“No.”

“Yes, Daario.”

“I serve you best here.”

“No, you serve me best where I send you and I am sending you back to Meereen.”

“That isn’t fair. Daenerys, let me stay- I love you.”

Daenerys closed her eyes. “Don’t, Daario. I am asking you to leave, to serve me as you swore to do. Go to Meereen and hold it for me.”

He met her eyes when she opened them. Anger swelled there rather than sadness. Dany sucked her bottom lip into her mouth. Daario chuckled, a bitter sound, and then shook his head, retreating from the tent.

It was not a surprise to Dany that she only felt relief and not sadness.

XXX

“I came to ask you,” Dany said quietly that night. She was in his tent. It had been a shock to Jon when she had appeared in his tent just after dinner. “I came to ask you to share my tent.”

Jon’s eyebrows rose. “Your grace,” he started, looking about himself. It was dark. He couldn’t lie and say that he had thought entirely innocently of Dany’s appearance in his tent, but he had not been expecting such an invitation, especially when Daario Naharis was still hanging around, shooting Jon bitter, angry looks whenever they crossed paths.

Dany cut him off with a kiss and then hardly drew away. They were very close. She was shorter than him, though admittedly not much so. She was looking up into his eyes, wide and sparkling purple. Jon chuckled. “Your grace, it would be improper to share your tent. It would be a statement that I am not sure you truly want to make.”

Jon watched her pull away with a feeling of dissatisfaction. She sighed. “You are very honourable, Jon Snow.”

“Thank you,” Jon said uneasily, feeling that she had more to say.

“I sent Daario back to Meereen with the Second Sons.”

“Oh,” Jon said, though not really in surprise. He had not seen Dany and Daario share a kind word or a pleased look since he had known them. Dany was watching him. He wondered if she was trying to figure out whether he was happy or not at that news. “Why did you do that?”

“Because I don’t love him.”

“Did you ever love him?” Dany gave him a small smile and shook her head.

“I think I could love you.”

Her words were bold and they sent Jon’s heart racing in a way that it hadn’t since Ygritte. Even so, he knew enough of the world that a bastard was no good as a partner for a queen, especially a queen who wanted to - needed to - win support. She needed to marry a - Jon went through the remaining great families. Of the Starks, there was only a young boy and a missing one. And even Bran was too young for her. The Tyrell heir was gone, leaving only a grandmother. The Lannisters were both married. The Arryn boy was young and weak and the Greyjoy heir was a woman. Jon’s uncle Edmure was married to one of the Freys, although Jon wasn’t sure if she had survived the massacre of the Twins that they had received news of. Jon truthfully had no clue of what was happening with the Martells and the Baratheons had been wiped out.

Dany would have to marry a nephew or a cousin, or a young boy, if she wanted to marry one of the great families. And she would have to marry and provide an heir, or nobody would support her. Perhaps Tyrion would choose one of his nephews as Daenerys’ husband.

“Jon,” Dany said, her eyes wide and hurt. He had not responded to what he had said.

He sighed. “Dany, I can’t- I am sworn to help you in any way that I can. I won’t curse your victory by tying you to a bastard. You need a man at your side who will win you support, a Lannister or a Martell, perhaps.”

Dany took a step back from him. “I already have Jaime Lannister’s armies. I have his alliance. I didn’t need to marry anyone to secure them. Dorne is ruled by women, the bastards of Oberyn. I have sent ravens to ask for an alliance but I doubt one of them will want to marry me. The heirs of the great houses are young and weak, or non-existent. I could- I could make you Lord Stark.”

“No,” Jon said, his eyes flaring. He could never hold his father’s title. He was not a Stark and certainly no Lord. “That is Bran’s- or Rickon’s, or Sansa will be its lady forever. The people would see it as wrong for you to give me that title and then marry me.”

“But you would marry me?” Dany asked.

“Don’t ask me that,” he sighed.

“Why?” she demanded. “I am Queen of Westeros. I should be allowed to choose my own husband.”

“That is precisely why you can’t,” Jon countered. “The less victories you buy with your alliances, the more you have to buy with death. Make an alliance with somebody powerful. Buy their support in King’s Landing.”

“Who? I have Dothraki, who I bought with marriage. I bought the Unsullied by giving them freedom. The Greyjoys, the Lannisters, the Northerners have chosen to follow me because they want me. I did not need to marry them.”

She was angry. Jon could see it in her face, hear it in her voice. “Westeros needs a man it knows beside you. Westeros does not know you. It needs a man it trusts.”

Dany looked away from him. “Why shouldn’t that be you? You are Ned Stark’s son.”

“His bastard.”

“Ser Jorah suggested I marry a Baratheon bastard, to keep that bloodline in the royal family.”

“It is not a terrible idea.”

“If I can marry a Baratheon bastard, I can marry a Stark one!” she cried.

Jon shook his head and reached out to take her arm, to pull her close to him. “Marrying me is rash, Dany. Loving me is stupid. I loved a woman once, wrongly, and it cost her her life. I won’t do the same to you.”

“So you won’t love me?” Jon glanced away. He did not want to lie to her. He heard a sniff of laughter come from her nose. She cupped his cheek and made him meet her eyes. “I will prove you wrong, Jon. You are the best option for me, because I will love you and I will respect you and Westeros will do the same. You’ll see.”

It was a promise that Jon didn’t believe in, as much as he wanted to. All the same, he didn’t want to take away her hope, his hope. So, he chuckled lightly and agreed. She smiled at him.

XXX

The journey to the Vale was not an enjoyable one. Sansa had not enjoyed it when they had come from the South and she enjoyed it less coming from the North. It was full of treacherous paths and mountain clans. It took longer than any of them had expected and, by the time they had crossed into the Reach, Sansa’s whole body was aching from riding.

Tyrion rode beside her some days but most days he did not. As much as she adored her husband’s company, Sansa preferred when he rode in the carriage. It was not good for his legs to ride for so long and it always made his cramps worse at night. However, that morning, he had insisted, as this was the day that they would reach the Vale and he would prefer to ride in. Sansa had acquiesced.

“How are you feeling?” Tyrion asked when they stopped for a rest, for a small meal and a drink. Sansa leaned her head against her horse’s mane.

“Tired,” she said honestly.

Tyrion clucked and she turned to look at him. “That’s not what I meant, Sansa.”

“We’re not there yet, Tyrion,” Sansa said with a sigh. “Don’t start fussing over me. I thought you believed that I was stronger than that.”

“I’m allowed to fuss over you as much as I’d like. You are my wife and I know that you are strong and wonderful and powerful, but you are also allowed to be weak, sometimes, especially in the uprun of seeing a man who sold you and particularly in front of your husband.”

All of this was said very quietly and with an easy tone that Sansa knew was not reproachful but informative. She gave her husband a smile and then, feeling loved and loving, bobbed down further to kiss him smackingly on the cheek.

“I have to say that my siblings are fucking surprising people.”

Sansa fell backwards, gasping, “By the Seven!”

She looked up, feeling Tyrion’s hand clasping her forearm. There were many people around them, yet nobody seemed to have noticed the approach of this young girl, wearing leather and with her hair in a bun. Sansa gaped.

“Lady Arya, it is a pleasure to see you,” Tyrion said jovially. Sansa closed her mouth and then opened it again. Her sister was rosy-cheeked and hard-eyed. The poor quality of her clothes made something churn in Sansa’s stomach and the sword at her waist made her heart lurch.

“Jon,” Sansa gasped, jumping to her feet and looking around her desperately. “Where is he? He has to- Jon.”

Tyrion tapped her arm and drew her gaze down to him. He raised his brows at her. “I will go and find Jon. Perhaps you should actually greet your sister.”

“I- Yes- Thank you- Tyrion, don’t go-” but he had already wandered off, leaving Sansa with grass stains on her dress, standing before the sister who had disappeared so long ago.

“I did see Jon yesterday actually,” Arya commented as though Sansa was not panicking. “I watched his tent with interest. I was going to jump out at him while he was asleep but, then, I saw your dragon queen go in there and I didn’t like to interrupt.” Sansa’s shoulders fell and her lips parted, suddenly realising - as though she had been in a daze - that her sister was standing in front of her, was talking to her about Jon and Daenerys, was alive. Arya was alive.

“Arya,” Sansa finally cried. Tears were in her eyes as she took her sister into her arms and hugged her tightly.

“Not missed this,” Arya commented blithely from her position against Sansa’s breasts. Sansa didn’t care and only held her tighter, feeling her hands come around to Sansa’s back too.

“I missed you,” Sansa said passionately. She heard Arya chuckle against her.

“I missed you too, Lady Lannister.”

Sansa pushed her sister roughly away from her. “Do not start calling me that. Seven, you sound like Jaime.”

“Jaime?” Arya repeated. “Jaime Lannister? Jaime Lannister is here? How did I miss that?”

Sansa shook her head, laughing. “No, Arya. He’s gone to the South, to raise the Lannister men for Daenerys.”

“But he’s been here? And you know him well enough to call him Jaime?” Arya’s nose wrinkled.

“He was at Winterfell, with Brienne. He came to save her life.”

“Who’s Brienne?” Arya asked blankly.

“You will love Brienne,” Sansa promised. “She is a knight.”

“A lady knight?” Sansa nodded excitedly.

“Well, not technically, but she and Jaime spar all the time.”

“Jaime, Jaime, Jaime. Why are you married to a Lannister?”

“Good question,” a voice came from behind them.

Arya made a squeak and then she ran into Jon’s arms. Sansa saw Daenerys watching with Tyrion from a short distance away. Sansa wondered idly whether Jon and Daenerys were genuinely fucking. It did seem rather likely.

Jon swung Arya around, cradling her head against his neck when he set her back down on the ground. She looked up at him, like he had hung the moon and the stars, as she always had, and Sansa felt jealousy stir in her chest. Tyrion and Daenerys approached now and Sansa could see Tyrion watching her carefully.

“How did you find us?” Jon asked when he pulled away, cupping her face with his hands and then stepping back. He reached out his hand for Sansa’s and she took it, squeezing it and smiling. “Arya. I can’t believe you found us.”

“It really wasn’t that tricky. I followed the rumours about Lady Lannister.” Sansa scowled but Jon snickered. Arya smiled. “I’ve learned a lot. I know how to find people.”

“I think we’ve all learned a lot,” Sansa commented. “Will you come with us to the Vale?”

Arya nodded. “I’m home now. You’re my family and you’re my home.”

Sansa’s eyes pricked with tears and she nodded, bringing Arya close to her again, ignoring Arya’s grumble of discontent. When she felt Jon’s arms encircle them both, it was all Sansa could ever have hoped for.


	19. Chapter 19

“And she hasn’t left her chambers since?” Gendry queried, amused.

“No, sir,” the young lad said, his grin wide and eager. Mateos was his name. He was the son of the man who worked at the shop next to the forge where Gendry worked and he had been one of Gendry’s first recruits. “We haven’t seen her all day.”

“Excellent,” Gendry said, chuckling, “but giving Cersei terrible rashes was only step one.”

“I know, sir,” Mateos replied, saluting him. “I’d best get back to the keep.”

“Yes,” Gendry said, inclining his head and watching Mateos scamper away. He turned back to his work, which had become his second priority. Since he’d learned of the Freys’ murder, he had started to talk to the people of King’s Landing, principally those of Flea Bottom, and he had got enough men around him to start to really irritate Cersei.

They did little things, like affect her bath water to make her develop rashes, but those little things gave them time to do bigger things in the keep, without her noticing. Mateos had returned to the keep now, to work with the rest of the children to leave pigs blood spilled outside of her door and various other distractions for the guards, while one of Gendry’s best thieves went in and stole the queen’s crown.

They had originally wanted to steal the Iron Throne but, after doing a reconnaissance mission, had discovered that it was not just a large chair. It would be impossible to steal, so they’d gone for the crown. One of Cersei’s handmaiden’s handmaiden was a spy from their small but growing ranks and she was able to supply them with the information of where it was kept and how it was guarded.

Gendry felt as though this was what he had been born to do. People listened to him. He spoke for them, for their hunger and the deaths of their people at the Sept of Baelor Slaughter. The noble people had no place here, no place ruling them, and especially not Cersei.

At first, it had just been about annoying Cersei, about having her make stupid decisions, but the more people who surrounded him, the more they demanded her head. Gendry knew it wouldn’t be long before they were considering who to put on the throne.

It wouldn’t be him. He had no ambition for the throne. The only thing he wanted was to be able to look Arya in the eye when he found her, and tell her that he fought Cersei, not for himself but for her. That knowledge was, of course, not public. The other rebels knew nothing of his familiarity with Arya but one day they would, when she returned.

XXX

Casterly Rock was an intimidating sight, Brienne had to admit as they finally saw it in the distance. It was huge and built of a light-coloured rock, on a tall dark hill, overlooking the sea beyond. Brienne wasn’t sure, now as she looked at it, what she had imagined, but it was precisely the sort of home that the Lannisters embodied: a light-coloured, well-designed castle, but huge and higher than anything in the distance. It was beautiful but also impressive and scary.

The moon shone overhead. Brienne watched as Jaime pulled his horse to a halt. “We should rest here for a while,” he called back to the men who had accompanied them. “We’ll enter Casterly Rock at the changing of guards, when the sun begins to rise.”

Jaime slid down from his horse and offered Brienne a hand in getting down from her own. She thanked him with a smile. “Do you want to rest?” he asked softly. Brienne smiled and nodded. “I’ll have the men set up a tent.”

Brienne shook her head. “No, Jaime, it’s only a few hours. I’ll sleep outside like the rest of you. You can keep me warm.”

Jaime smirked at the comment and Brienne pursed her lips at him. “Come on, then, wench.”

They lay down together on the sleeping mat that their packhorse carried, along with many other supplies. Their journey down to Casterly Rock had been long and they did not have many men, nor even a cart for supplies. It made for a quicker journey but not necessarily a more pleasant one. They had a few tents, enough for everyone if the men shared, and more often than not they used them. But, some nights, like that night, they simply did not have the energy to put them up. And, as they got further south, and it got warmer, their bedclothes were generally warm enough anyway.

“It was fun to do a journey with you again,” Jaime commented when they were cuddled together under some sheets. Brienne hummed her agreement. “Better that we were fucking than fighting this time.”

Brienne chuckled. “Shush,” she said halfheartedly. “We’ve come a long way since that journey.” Jaime nodded against her shoulder. “Thank you for coming for me.”

“I always will.”

“Well, I hope you never have to again, because we’ll be together.”

“Mmhmm,” Jaime said, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Always and forever.”

Brienne tapped his side. “You’re soft.”

“You’re soft,” he repeated protestingly. Brienne laughed, arching back to kiss him softly.

“Are you glad to be back here?” she said, nodding up at Casterly Rock’s intimidating figure in the distance.

Jaime chuckled. “Yes, because the happiest years of my life were spent here,” he said sarcastically. Brienne turned to look at him with interest. He sighed. “I suppose it will be nice to see the old place, but it’s where my mother died, where Cersei and I-” he shook his head “- where I let Cersei bully Tyrion, where my father bullied us all, where I couldn’t read, where-” he cut himself off. “I was so happy when I left here to squire.”

Brienne kissed him again, cupping his cheek. “We’ll make some happy memories here.”

Jaime smirked. “Yes, I have plans to fuck you in my father’s chambers.”

Brienne wrinkled her nose. “That’s a bit weird, Jaime.” Jaime snorted. “What are your plans for arrival? Do you know who is there at the moment?”

Jaime smirked. “I know him very well. Addam Marbrand commands here and trust me, I have plans.”

XXX

“I’m not sure about this, Jaime,” Brienne said as she took a seat in his mother’s old chair at the high table of the Casterly Rock great hall. Jaime took his seat next to her, grinning at his own genius. Addam was going to be so shocked.

“It’s going to be great,” he said, swinging his feet atop the table. This had been his father’s seat once and Jaime had never wanted it, but it was his now and he could do what he liked, so he sat with his feet on the table and his wife at his side. “Just you wait to see Addam’s face.”

“You’re sure they’ll be the first people in here?” Brienne asked, biting her lip in worry. Jaime smiled and reached over to kiss her.

“Yes. My father always demanded that the lord sat at the table first and then the servants came in with the food. It made him feel important, I think.” Brienne clucked her tongue and looked around the room. “Surveying your kingdom, wench?” he teased. She gave him a sideways glance.

“Was this room always full when you were a child here?”

“Mmhmm,” Jaime agreed. “Always. My father expected loyalty from his men and they expected to be fed and watered well when they visited Casterly, which was often.”

Brienne opened her mouth to say something else but then the doors began to open and Jaime widened his eyes at her with a grin and leaned back against his chair, which was really a sort of throne. Brienne gave him a soft roll of her eyes but she was smiling.

Addam appeared from behind the door, a woman who was not his wife at his side. Behind him were soldiers and courtiers, just as Jaime knew there would be. He could also see the servants peeping in from the side doors, waiting to see when they should bring food in. He wondered if they had recognised him yet.

Jaime was treated to the wonderful sight of Addam’s face as he realised what was going on. There was shock first and then he grinned a bit and then he scowled. “Jaime Lannister,” he growled, stalking into the room, his mistress clamouring to keep up with him. The soldiers and courtiers were shocked. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Jaime sighed, stretching his legs out and looking about him. He found Brienne watching him with amusement. “This is my wife, Addam, Lady Brienne of Tarth, by the way. Very rude not to ask,” he said lazily, glancing down to look at his fingernails and then up again at Addam, who had narrowed eyes. “And where are your lovely wife and children? This one is blonder than your usual ones.”

The woman’s eyes widened and she glanced up at Addam with stricken eyes. Jaime smirked. “This chair is very comfortable, isn’t it?” he said, running his hand along one of the arms.

“Where have you been, Lannister?” Addam said, his voice still more angry than pleased. Jaime knew him better than that, though.

Jaime shrugged. “You know, running around saving damsels in distress, getting married, enjoying the honeymoon period. I had to spend enough time breaking the wife in.” Jaime expected the punch to his arm before he felt it and turned to grin at his wife, who was scowling. “Or she’s been breaking me in,” he revised. He saw the small smirk creep onto Brienne’s lips before it vanished into a scowl.

“You know why I’m here, Addam. I’m here for my men.”

Addam finally grinned. He was rather close to the top table now. “Finally,” he said and Jaime’s smirk turned into a genuine smile, watching his closest friend approach to take his hand.

XXX

“Sir, sir!” a voice cried, interrupting Gendry’s conversation with the messenger that his spy in Cersei’s circle had sent to give him information. Gendry looked up to find his best messenger, Mateos, jumping up and down with information.

“What is it, Mateos?” he asked with urgency.

Mateos smiled. “It’s the Dragon Queen, sir,” he said, still panting slightly. “She’s taken the Vale.”

Gendry’s eyes widened. “Do we know anything else? How did it happen?”

“Lord Baelish has been imprisoned and the Lords of the Vale have sworn to the Dragon Queen.” Gendry smiled. This would be terrible news for Cersei. “Sir, Sansa Stark is with her, and the Imp.”

“Tyrion Lannister?” Gendry clarified, his mind whirring. They had heard that Sansa Stark had married the Bastard of Bolton and that Daenerys had taken the North, killing the Bastard. Not much had been heard of Sansa since, but it was clear now that she was alive and working with Daeneyrs and, apparently, Tyrion Lannister.

Gendry nodded slowly. “Mateos, I need you to find me a raven. You might have to go to the keep. We need to send a message to the Vale.” Mateos ran off and Gendry turned back to his other messenger, though his mind was still with Sansa. If Sansa was at the Vale, did that mean Arya was at her side? Gendry knew that Arya’s first priority would be to return to her family. His heart began to speed up. Perhaps he would see Arya before too long.

XXX

Baelish’s trial was private, to an extent. Queen Daenerys presided, of course, because, as soon as Baelish had been imprisoned, the Lords of the Vale had agreed that they would support her claim to be queen. Sansa knew that they did so because of a dislike of Cersei rather than a love of Daenerys, but she also knew that Daenerys would bring them around, once they knew her.

Other than the queen, the Lords of the Vale were the judges. Sansa was the witness who would condemn him and Lord Tyrion and Arya were allowed to be her support. Jon, Ser Jorah and Lord Varys were spending time with the high-ranking soldiers, to get to know the strengths and weaknesses of the Knights of the Vale.

“Sansa, my dear, you went back to where I rescued you from,” Baelish commented as two Knights of the Vale led him into his seat. Sansa ignored the comment. She felt Tyrion stiffen in anger at her side. It had been him, after all, who Baelish had taken Sansa away from. The thought that that had once been what she wanted was almost unbelievable.

“You are not allowed to speak to Lady Sansa, Lord Baelish,” Queen Daenerys said, her face a mask. “Hold your tongue.”

“Of course, your grace,” Lord Baelish said, bowing his head as though a repentant. Sansa felt her heart stir in anger at the way he was playing false. She knew that he felt no remorse, ever.

“You are accused of the murder of Lady Lysa Arryn, Lord Baelish. How do you plead?”

“Innocent,” Lord Baelish said. Sansa schooled her features not to show how she felt. She squeezed Tyrion’s hand to encourage him to do the same. He would pay, no matter what he said.

And pay he did. The trial didn’t last very long. Sansa gave her witness statement to the murder of Lady Lysa. It was her word against his but she was Lady of Winterfell and one of the queen’s ladies. Her word was unchallenged and Baelish was condemned to death. Sansa allowed herself a smile as he was taken away to wait for his executioner.

Sansa was invited to watch the execution, as were all the participants in the trial and others within the Eyrie, but she declined, asking Tyrion to go in her stead. It was enough to know that he was to die. She did not necessarily have to see it, especially after having already seen Ramsay’s.

“Arya,” Sansa said, drawing her sister’s attention back to her as they sat across from each other, at the lunch that the servants had set out for them. Arya was looking out at the mountains beyond.

Arya smiled. “Sorry,” she said. “How do you feel now Baelish is dead?”

There was little time between Arya’s arrival and Baelish’s trial, but enough to give Arya the basic details of what had happened since they had last seen each other. Arya had been less forthcoming with details of her few years. “I feel fine. Can we speak about you for once?”

Arya groaned dramatically. “Sansa, you’ve been married three times, run away from King’s Landing, run away from Winterfell and now you’re the Lady of Winterfell. There is nothing I can have done in the past years that equates to that.”

Sansa smiled at the way Arya had summed up the traumatic events of her life. As she opened her mouth to speak again, however, there was a knock at the door, soon revealed to be a messenger. “Thank you,” Sansa said, taking the scroll and unfurling it.

“What is it?” Arya asked disinterestedly.

“It’s-” Sansa swallowed, cutting herself off. Arya looked up. “It’s from a man claiming to be Robert Baratheon’s bastard, a smith from King’s Landing.”

“What?” Arya said, swiping the scroll from Sansa’s hands. Sansa furrowed her brow as she watched emotions flicker across her sister’s face: shock and then happiness and then a determination that made dread fill Sansa’s stomach. “I have to go.”

“Why?” Sansa said quietly.

Arya sighed. “I- This- I knew a smith once, by this name. I didn’t know he was Robert’s bastard, admittedly, but he was my friend and - I have to go and help him Sansa.”

“Help him?” Sansa repeated incredulously. “Help him with what?”

Arya chuckled, a breathless thing. “He wants to deliver Daenerys King’s Landing.”


	20. Chapter 20

“To Arya Stark, the ghost of the Twins!” Jon said, lifting his goblet high. Sansa smiled and raised hers to join him, tipping it slightly towards her little sister, who had rid them of their enemies in the Freys, who had avenged Robb and Catelyn. The Boltons were gone, the Freys were gone. Tywin Lannister was dead. Robb and Catelyn, and Robb’s wife, could rest peacefully now.

“When will you leave, Arya?” Tyrion asked. Rickon looked up curiously. Sansa smiled.

Arya shrugged. “Few days, probably,” she said through a mouthful of food. Sansa tutted and glanced at Daenerys, who only watched her with amusement, not disgust. Only Arya could get away with eating like a heathen in the Queen’s presence. “Maybe sooner. I don’t know.”

“How did you meet this Gendry?” Daenerys asked. Arya’s lips twitched and then settled back into a scowl. Daenerys had been curious to learn that Arya knew one of Robert’s bastards so well - in fact, she had been curious to learn that any of Robert’s bastards survived, after Cersei and Joffrey’s extermination of them.

“He was part of the troop of prisoners being delivered to the Wall that I joined when I escaped King’s Landing, after my father died. He was not a prisoner but his master sent him away. He must have known that he was one of Robert’s bastards.”

“And when did you leave him?” Sansa asked.

Arya shook her head. “He left me. We got tangled up with Beric Dondarrion and the Brotherhood Without Banners. They offered to make him one of them and he wanted to be part of something, so he stayed. Then a red woman kidnapped him.”

“A red woman?” Daenerys asked, startled. “A Red Priestess?”

Arya shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe. I didn’t stick around long enough to see. The Hound kidnapped me, wanted to take me to Mother and Robb.”

“The Hound?” Sansa repeated.

Arya nodded, ducking her head slightly. “He took me to the Twins. We arrived to see the soldiers sew Grey Wind’s head to Robb’s body and parade it around the courtyard.” Sansa flinched. Jon grimaced. “The Hound got me away. He was going to bring me here, to Aunt Lysa, but Brienne of Tarth found us first.” Arya inclined her head at Sansa, who had identified the woman who had tried to save Arya, after hearing Arya’s description of her.

“Brienne came to me after that,” Sansa told her. Arya’s eyebrows raised. “She has since married Jaime Lannister.” Arya’s face turned in disgust, glancing at Tyrion.

“Silly mistake to make.”

“I think she fell in love with him,” Sansa said, amused. “He came to save her from Ramsay.”

“Where are they now?” Arya demanded. “Has he gone back to Cersei?”

Tyrion cleared his throat. “He’s gone to Casterly Rock, to rally the Lannister men.”

Arya harrumphed, glancing at Daenerys and Jon. “If you trust him, that’s your prerogative, but I think he’s a dick.”

“Everyone thinks he’s a dick,” Tyrion said dryly, “but he is loyal to Daenerys and to his wife.” Arya rolled his eyes.

“You would say that. He’s your brother.”

“Okay, Arya,” Sansa said, placing her hand on her arm. “That’s enough about Jaime.”

“Jaime,” Arya mocked. “Of course, you’re a Lannister now, too, Sansa.” Sansa glanced at her husband whose lips twitched.

“Yes, I am,” Sansa said strongly. Arya met her eyes and looked away, chuckling.

Her sister raised her glass. “Hear us roar,” she said sarcastically. Sansa pursed her lips to hide her smile. Tyrion raised his glass to clink against Arya’s.

XXX

Brienne had come to the conclusion that, when paired with Addam Marbrand, her husband was essentially a green boy. They got drunk, every night, and laughed and duelled and made jokes. And, then, on the nights that she didn’t join them, he would come to bed and kiss her messily and then fall asleep against her chest. Brienne did find herself joining them more often than not though, if only to hear Addam Marbrand say nice things about Jaime. It was rare to find anybody who thought well of Jaime and she enjoyed hearing it.

“My best friend,” Jaime slurred, patting Addam’s cheek a few times. Brienne pursed her lips at him and he turned to look at her, cocking his head. “Don’t be jealous, wench. I’m allowed to have a best friend and a wife. Who is your best friend? Is it Podrick?”

Brienne shook her head fondly at him. “You’re drunk,” she informed him. Jaime nodded.

“I’d hope so. My father only bought the good stuff,” he said, raising his goblet. “You’re not drunk. Is it because your father is in the castle?”

Shaking her head at him, Brienne remembered that her father had indeed arrived the night before. He had set off from Winterfell sometime after them, having cemented an alliance with Daenerys that made him the new Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, given that very few prominent Stormland families remained and Lord Tarth was the most senior and most respected of them.

He had been a very welcome face to Brienne, when he’d arrived, along with Podrick. As happy as Brienne was here, with Jaime, there was quite a bit of suspicion about her and quite a bit of distaste. Brienne understood that she was not what anybody had expected of Jaime. Most people had likely not expected him ever to marry. Generally people were married by twenty or not at all. And here was Jaime, marrying an ugly girl from a small island in the Stormlands, at nearly forty.

She heard the whispers, heard the women who said she wasn’t good enough, heard the men who said that it was emasculating for their lady to wear breeches and spar with their lord. She knew that she didn’t fit this role of being Lady of Casterly Rock. Often, she would reach their chambers at night and feel like she had made a huge mistake - and then Jaime would smile at her, would kiss her, would touch her.

And she would be reminded that she was Lady of Casterly Rock because she was Jaime’s wife, and she would not give up being Jaime’s wife for anything.

“You’re thinking too loudly, wench,” Jaime’s hot breath purred in her ear. Brienne shivered and Jaime smirked. “Have some more wine.”

Brienne met his eyes and acquiesced. It was good wine, after all. She sipped at her goblet and Jaime grinned. “How did you two meet?” Addam asked, his voice a lot steadier than Jaime’s. Jaime did not drink often enough to be able to hold his wine.

Jaime poked Brienne's upper arm. “You tell Addam,” he slurred. “Tell him how I made you fall in love with me.” Brienne regarded him, amused.

“I was Jaime’s captor. I took him to King’s Landing.”

Jaime let out a loud boo. “You’re not telling it right, wench.” Addam watched them and Brienne felt her face flush. “What happened, Addam, was that she was my captor. She was supposed to take me to King’s Landing but then I managed to get a sword and we were sparring -”

“- Fighting -” Brienne cut in.

With a roll of his eyes, Jaime allowed, “Fighting.” He continued, “Anyway, we were too noisy and got caught. They were going to rape Brienne but I fought them off-”

“With an idiotic comment,” Brienne reminded him. Jaime’s lips twitched.

“Worked, didn’t it, wench? So then she got naked in front of me and held me in a bath-”

“Because you passed out,” Brienne added through ground teeth. He smirked at her.

“So romantic,” he teased, brushing his finger along her jawline. “And then I jumped into a bear pit to save her life-”

“-After abandoning me-”

“Shush, wench,” Jaime said, eyes wide. “Then I bought her a suit of armour and gave her a sword.” He shrugged. “And she’s been in love with me ever since.”

Addam was laughing, raucously. “I’m sure you were just too charming to deny, Jaime.”

“See, Brienne? He knows.” Brienne smiled fondly at her drunk husband and cupped his cheek in her hand. He gave her a soft, goofy smile. “I’m sleepy, wench.”

“Let’s go to bed,” she murmured.

“Propositioning me?”

Brienne harrumphed. “I’d like to see you try anything in this state, love.”

“I’ll show you,” he promised, his head lolling slightly. Brienne turned to Addam with a smile.

“We’ll see you in the morning,” she told him, hauling Jaime to his feet. At the door, Addam called her name and Brienne turned back.

He shook his head. “Sorry. I - just, thank you.”

“For what?” Brienne asked, bemused.

Addam gave her a grim smile. “For saving him.”

Brienne shook her head slightly. “You heard him,” she said, glancing at Jaime, “he saved me.” Addam sniffed out a laugh and inclined his head at her. With one small smile, Brienne left the room and headed for her chambers, her arm wrapped around Jaime’s back.

XXX

“Sansa,” Daenerys greeted, standing at Sansa and Tyrion’s entrance. “Tyrion. How are you?”

“Well, thank you,” Sansa said, puzzled by the summons. “And you, your grace?”

She inclined her head. “Very well. I have a favour to ask of you.” Sansa arched a brow. “You’ve done well in dealing with things here, Sansa. Robin Arryn and Lord Royce have things under control here and they have sworn what men they have to me. I need you to go to Yara Greyjoy and have her summon her troops and bring them to King’s Landing. I would send a raven but I don’t believe she is the sort of woman to just be sent for.”

Sansa nodded. “Of course, your grace. When should we leave?”

Daenerys smiled. “You can leave when Lady Arya does.”

“Wonderful,” Tyrion said, a tone in his voice. Daenerys grimaced.

“I apologise for the long journey to the Iron Islands but I want Yara to know that she is valued and, as much as I appreciate your political acumen, neither of you are particularly militarily-minded.”

Sansa sniffed out a laugh, glancing down at Tyrion, who cocked his head. “We are happy to go. You want them to come immediately?”

Daenerys nodded. “Yes, to support Gendry’s troops in King’s Landing. I want Cersei as weak as possible before we arrive, to give the people time to decide that they want to support a stronger monarch.” Tyrion nodded slowly.

“Okay. That makes sense. We’ll leave with Arya tomorrow and head for the Iron Islands.”

“Thank you,” Daenerys said, meeting Sansa’s eyes and then flicking to Tyrion’s. “Your loyalty means the world to me.”

XXX

Arya, Sansa, Tyrion and their troupe, which included Rickon, did leave together, early the next morning, having wished Jon farewell the night before, but their paths diverged early on into the journey, as Arya was heading south and Sansa and Tyrion were turning west. It had been painful to say goodbye.

“I feel as though I’m losing you again,” Sansa had said as they stood on the road together, Arya’s back facing south and Sansa’s facing north. “Things don’t go well when Starks go south.”

Arya’s lips twitched. “You survived.”

Sansa sniffed out in laughter. “Try to do better than me.”

“Impossible,” Arya said, her lips in a straight line. “I never would have imagined that you would do so well, Sansa.”

“I always knew that you would,” Sansa said and then shook her head, stepping forward to hold Arya for a moment. “Please be safe, Arya. Don’t trust anybody.”

Arya stepped away with a sad smile. “You neither, Sansa. Stay safe. I’ll see you soon.”

Sansa closed her eyes against a surge of tears. She heard Arya say, “Be good to my sister, Lannister,” and, when Sansa opened her eyes, Arya was gone and only Sansa’s husband remained, along with their soldiers, Rickon and Shaggydog. Tyrion took her hand.

“Come on, Sansa. Let’s keep going. The sooner we get to the Iron Islands, the sooner all of this is over.” Sansa wasn’t sure that that was necessarily true but she believed him even so and took a few strides before straddling her horse and ordering the column on.

XXX

“What’s wrong?” Daenerys asked Jon softly as she joined him around the campfire that he kept outside of his tent. There were a few others there and they looked up as their queen joined them but returned to their own conversations upon seeing that she was talking with Jon.

Jon’s lips were set in a line. “News from Beyond the Wall.” Daenerys furrowed her brow. “Tormund Giantsbane says that the Others are becoming bolder, massing together.”

Daenerys bit at her lip. The Others were an almost constant worry of hers, ever since she had spoken with Jon about them. “Are the Wild- the Free Folk safe?” she asked. Jon smiled at her and Daenerys knew that he appreciated that she called them by the name that they preferred.

“Tormund is bringing them into the Gift, on this side of the Wall. I’m going to send a raven back to tell them to come further down, as far as Winterfell, and start working the land there. They can prepare for themselves as well as the rest of the North.”

“Good,” Daenerys said, nodding. The Others were - Cersei was an enemy that Dany could imagine. She could see how she could defeat her and the repercussions on both sides. The Others were less clear. Dany could not even picture them, never mind come up with a plan to defeat them, though Jon said that dragonsteel - or Valyrian Steel - and dragonglass worked.

Daenerys wished that she could just ignore the threat, until she had defeated Cersei and had the might of all of Westeros at her back, but she knew from Jon’s stories that it was more pressing than that.

She shook her head. “Jon, I promise, that if we have not taken the kingdoms by time that winter truly comes, we will retreat north and protect the kingdoms.”

Jon met her eyes. His eyes were stormy but hard, like steel, like dragonsteel. Daenerys knew that this was the man that she would defeat the Others with. “Dany,” he started, his voice gruff. “I love you.”

Daenerys’ breath hitched as she met his eyes. She allowed her lips to spread widely. “I love you too.”


	21. Chapter 21

Samwell Tarly was not what Dany had expected when Jon had announced that another man of the Night’s Watch had found them on the road and wanted to speak with them both. The man of the Reach was large, enormously so, but fat not muscly as one would expect of a Crow, and he travelled with a wife, a small, timid girl who held a baby. They travelled with nobody else, in their carriage, and were obviously nervous to be doing so.

Dany greeted Sam kindly. She knew, had heard from Jon, that he was brave, in a less obvious way than most men, and that he was clever. More than that, she knew that he was Jon’s very best friend, that Jon considered him to be his brother.

“I come from Winterfell,” Sam said when Jon and Dany had settled at one side of a table across from him. Jon’s eyebrows flew up.

“When did you arrive at Winterfell?” he asked. “If I’d have known that you’d left Oldtown, I would have sent somebody to travel with you.” Sam shook his head.

“It wasn’t too long ago. I was looking for you, to discuss something that I found out there, but I found your brother instead.”

Jon’s eyes widened. “My brother? Bran?”

Sam nodded. “Bran is- Well, he was beyond the wall for a long time, Jon. He’s changed from what you last knew of him. He’s - he can see things.”

“What things?” Dany asked, arching a brow. “What do you mean?”

Sam looked bewildered even as he spoke. “He calls himself the Three Eyed Raven.”

Jon shook his head. “That’s a fairytale told to Northern children.”

Sam’s throat bobbed. “Jon, Bran can see the past. He saw your past, more specifically.” Dany laid her hand on Jon’s leg. “When I was in Oldtown, I found a marriage certificate, for Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.”

“Impossible,” Dany said immediately. 

Sam met her eyes and continued, “I came to tell Jon about it, to see if he understood it, what it meant. And then I met Bran and he already knew what I’d seen and knew even more. Jon, he saw your father, at the Tower of Joy.” Jon looked up hesitatingly. “He saw your father - Ned Stark - defeat Arthur Dayne and then he saw Lyanna Stark give Ned a baby and make him promise to protect it, before dying.”

Dany stilled. Jon shook his head. “Sam, what are you saying?” Dany understood what he was saying. Lyanna Stark was Jon’s father. Ned Stark had never fathered a bastard. All of the rumours were false. When Rhaegar had kidnapped Lyanna, he had loved her and married her and gotten a child on her.

And that child was Jon.

Jon was Rhaegar’s son.

And Dany’s nephew.

“How would nobody else know?” Dany asked coolly. “All this time, they say that Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna. If she went willingly, how would nobody else know?”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know much else, I’m afraid. I just thought you ought to know.” 

Dany dismissed him with her thanks, ordering him to find himself something to eat, for his wife and child as well, and then she turned to Jon. He was staring into space. He hadn’t said anything to Sam.

“Jon,” Dany said and she placed a hand on his arm. He flinched but finally met her eyes.

“My father lied to me,” he said hoarsely.

Dany nodded. “I know.”

“I’m your nephew.” Dany nodded again. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to stop loving you. Gods, Dany, how am I supposed to deal with this?”

“It puts you higher in the succession than me.”

“I don’t want it.”

Dany shook her head. “Then nobody can know. If the chance to have a male on the throne is there, the people will want it.”

Jon looked away from her. “This is - Rhaegar is my father. Lyanna is my mother. How can nobody have known? My father cannot have been the only one to know.”

“No,” Daenerys agreed. “He must have taken people with him to the Tower.” Jon nodded slowly. “Jon, what does this mean?”

Jon met her eyes again. They weren’t steady anymore, just scared, just worried. Dany felt her stomach roil. He shook his head. “I love you, but I have to - I have to deal with this.”

Dany nodded. “Of course. I love y-”

Before she could finish, he had stormed out of the tent and disappeared, leaving Dany to close her eyes and force the tears swelling in her eyes to disappear.

XXX

Arya relished the wide-eyed look on Jaime Lannister’s face and the yelp that came from his lips as she jumped down from the trees in front of his column. She would remember that look and sound for a long time. Hauling herself back onto her feet, she found Jaime and his wife, Brienne, watching her with astonishment.

“Arya,” the lady knight that Arya had identified as Brienne of Tarth said. Arya grinned.

“Pleasure to meet you,” she said. “I’ve been watching you for three days.” Jaime narrowed his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Brienne stammered. “Does Sansa know-”

Arya nodded. “Saw Sansa and Jon at the Vale then got called down here to fuck some stuff up.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, first we were just doing silly things, like giving Cersei rashes and spilling pigs blood in front of her chamber door.” Jaime’s eyes went wide. “But then we stole her crown and melted it into a pool of metal on the streets of Flea Bottom. And then we had more people to help, so we started slaughtering her men in their beds.”

Brienne blinked. Arya smirked. “We want to put you outside the city. I have to say, I wish I’d been able to see Cersei’s face when she realises that the Lannister troops camped outside her city are here to fight against her.” Arya paused, glancing at Jaime. “Provided they are?” Jaime snarled. Brienne lay her hand on his arm. “I mean, your brother told me that you are on our side, though we did agree that you’re a dick.”

Jaime smirked. Brienne scowled. “Have you heard from Sansa and the Ironborn?” she asked. Arya tore her narrowed eyes away from a smirking Jaime to look at Brienne. She nodded.

“They aren’t far off. Probably another fortnight. Things are closing in for Cersei.” Arya paused and then met Brienne’s eyes. They were a startling shade of blue. “I want to discuss the idea of attacking now, without Daenerys’ troops, with only Westerosi.”

Jaime and his wife shared a look. “And why would you want to do that?”

“To steal the throne,” Arya said simply and then let out a great peal of laughter as she saw their faces. “No, of course not. To show Westeros that it is Westeros fighting for Daenerys, not an army of foreigners.”

She watched her words settle on Jaime and Brienne. “And you’d have our troops join the people of King’s Landing?”

Arya nodded. “I think that a joint attack by the Lannister troops and the people of King’s Landing on the Lannister queen ruling from King’s Landing would be a powerful message.”

She saw Jaime’s eyes flicker and remembered that this was the man that Robb had been fighting, all that time ago. “How many people has Cersei got?”

“She has the City Watch and it’s been expanding. All the upshots in the city want to defeat the Flea Bottom scum.” Arya said it proudly. She was part of the Flea Bottom scum that was rising up to take down its oppressors. “She has the starts of the Golden Company, but it’s barely a tenth of their number. The rest are on their way.”

Jaime nodded consideringly. “And how far are they away?”

Arya shrugged. “A fortnight to a month. They could arrive before the Ironborn or they could not.”

“And the Northern army?” Brienne asked. Arya inclined her head.

“A week, at most.”

“I’d advise caution,” she said, glancing at Jaime who nodded. “Losing a battle this early would be - catastrophic. It would strengthen Cersei’s resolve, would anger the people fighting. We should wait for the Northerners.”

“But you will fight, even if Daenerys is not here?”

Jaime and Brienne met eyes and then nodded. “Yes,” Jaime said. “I understand what you mean about it being a powerful image.”

“And you will fight, even if it means killing your sister?” Arya challenged. Jaime narrowed his eyes.

“I’m here, aren’t I? I’ve brought troops to destroy her, haven’t I?”

Arya smirked. “I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?”

“We will,” Brienne said through gritted teeth. 

XXX

“Jaime,” Brienne said, heading into Jaime’s tent. He looked up from polishing his sword and met her eyes, smiling. “How are you?”

“Better for seeing you.” It was true that they had not seen each other much in the five nights since they had arrived in King’s Landing. They were both working with the troops or meeting with Arya and Gendry or making plans with the commanders. Brienne had seen more of her father and Addam Marbrand since she’d arrived than Jaime.

Brienne let herself be drawn into Jaime’s arms, placing herself between his legs, even though it made her head and shoulders taller than him. She bent to press a kiss to his golden curls and he pressed his face deeper into her chest. “You want to eat here tonight?”

Jaime sighed. “Yes. Just you and me.”

“Good,” Brienne said, pulling away. “Because I have something to tell you.”

“Ominous,” Jaime teased, looking up at her. “Come and sit down with me,” he said, patting the small amount of bench at his side. Brienne did try to squeeze herself on and Jaime scooched himself up so he was only half on the one-person bench too.

“I’m pregnant.”

She watched Jaime’s breath hitch, his eyes widen and his posture stiffen. “Pregnant?” he repeated, his voice catching halfway through the word. Brienne nodded. “With my baby?”

“Yes, Jaime,” Brienne said exasperatedly. “With your baby.”

“You, Brienne, are pregnant with my baby.”

“Jaime,” Brienne sighed. He was still staring at her like she had told him something completely revolutionary. “What did you think would happen? I don’t drink moon tea and you don’t pull out of me.”

Jaime shook his head, bringing his hand to his mouth. “I just- Never expected it would be so soon. With Cersei-” he cut himself off and Brienne cupped his cheek, forcing him to look into her eyes.

“You are allowed to talk about her.”

Jaime shook his head, pressing a kiss against her palm. “You’re pregnant,” he said, his voice breathy and not confused anymore. Brienne nodded. “You’re pregnant,” he repeated. 

“Yes,” she said, biting her lip.

“You’re pregnant,” Jaime said again before he was kissing her, cradling her neck in his hand. Brienne leaned into him, pressing her forehead against his when he pulled away. “Pregnant. We’re going to have a baby.”

Brienne saw the second that Jaime realised what that meant for Brienne. His eyes went stony. “You can’t be- you can’t fight anymore.”

Brienne sighed. “I know.”

“You can’t risk the baby.”

“I know, Jaime,” she said more pressingly. “I promise that I will stay as safe as I possibly can.”

Jaime shook his head. “Safer,” he said pleadingly, pressing another kiss to her lips. “Safer, Brienne. I can’t do this if- You have to be there when I get out of this, with our babe.”

Brienne nodded. “I promise, Jaime.”

XXX

Jon found Daenerys in her pavilion, looking over plans for the attack with Ser Jorah. They were another week yet from King’s Landing and Dany was getting more and more antsy every day that they didn’t arrive. They knew that the Ironborn should have arrived, and the Northern soldiers too. The contingent from Dorne were perhaps slightly slower, because, so Jon supposed, they didn’t really want to fight but just make the appearance of it. But he couldn’t be sure. And it was enough that they weren’t fighting Daenerys, when the amount of people on their side was considered. 

“Can I have a moment with her grace, Ser Jorah?” Jon asked politely from the entrance. Ser Jorah looked up and Jon saw the glint in his eyes that suggested he was not entirely happy to leave. However, with a nod from Dany, he did leave, brushing his shoulder briefly past Jon’s on the way out.

“We’ve not spoken in a while,” Dany said, turning her eyes back towards the plans. Jon took two strides and looked at them too, from the other side of the table.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, focusing on the plan of King’s Landing. He had never visited the city so he did not really have anything to add, not like many of Dany’s other advisers. Dany swallowed audibly, the only sign that she had anything on her mind except the map of her capital.

“What’s changed?”

Jon shook his head. “Nothing.” Dany looked up. “Nothing has changed. I still love you. I’m going to love you every day for the rest of my life.” Dany’s mouth opened and then closed again. “The honourable thing to do would be to return to the wall.”

Dany’s breath hitched. “You are very honourable-”

“Instead I’m going to marry you. If you’ll have me,” he added at second thought.

Dany’s eyes widened. “Marry me?”

Jon nodded. “I want to marry you.”

“Rule together?” Dany said, her lips twitching into a smile. Jon nodded seriously. “And if I can’t have children?”

Jon shrugged. “We’ll pick an heir from my sisters’ children.”

Dany nodded slowly. “Okay, then. Let’s get married.” Jon smiled. Dany smiled back at him.

XXX

“What’s on your mind, my lady?” Gendry asked, joining Arya on the front step of the small home that he lived in, that she had joined him in. That they lived together in. She scowled at him for old times’ sake.

“Don’t call me my lady.”

Gendry pushed his shoulder into hers. “But you are my lady.” Arya ducked her head to hide her smile. After the nights they’d shared together, she could say quite definitively that she was his lady. “Go on, what has you thinking so hard?”

Arya looked out into the dark street. The stars were shining above. She leaned her head on Gendry’s shoulder and was able to see the surprise on his face. She enjoyed surprising him, a lot. “You ever worry that this isn’t gonna work?”

Gendry nodded. “Sure. Every day. Every night I dream about an army of those monsters Cersei created coming out of nowhere.”

Arya swallowed. “How do you go on?”

Gendry smiled at her. “I did all this for you. I’m carrying on for you too.”

Arya nodded slowly. “I came here for you.”

“Good,” Gendry said, wrapping his arms around her. Arya stiffened before accepting the embrace. “Then we’re both on the same page.”

Arya smiled. “I guess so.”


	22. Chapter 22

Sansa Stark struggled to keep her eyes open, even as she realised that they were only two days from the city. The moment they reached the city, she could rest for longer than a few hours. Tyrion could rest. Since about two days after they had fled Winterfell to bring their message south, Sansa had regretted allowing Tyrion to come. Riding so hard caused him so much pain and it made Sansa feel guilty every time she hurried on.

But Tyrion understood. Bran’s message had been too important to wait.

Finding Bran at Winterfell had been a wonderful, welcome surprise, especially after time spent with the Ironborn, sending them off to King’s Landing to join Daenerys. He had greeted them with cold eyes, though. He was no longer the boy that they had known. And, within moments, he was explaining what he had seen, what he knew, and he was hurrying them away.

Apparently, a raven wasn’t safe enough but Sansa knew that wasn’t true. Bran had seen something more, something that he believed meant that Sansa and Tyrion were needed in King’s Landing.

They left Rickon with Bran and their staff there and galloped off to the coast, to get on a ship and then off just before King’s Landing.

It would be a miracle if they made it in time, before Cersei blew up the casks of wildfire that she had restached beneath the city, ready to destroy every person invading her city, even if it cost her her own life.

XXX

Daario Naharis was waiting outside the city. Jon looked sideways at his wife and found that her eyes were narrowed, ever so slightly. They continued riding their column until they reached Daario. Jon held his hand up to have their soldiers stop when they were within talking distance. Now that they were closer, Jon could see around the hill that had blocked his sight of the Second Sons. Swallowing his distaste for Daario, he turned to Dany to hear her address him.

“You were supposed to be in Meereen,” she said simply. “You were supposed to be serving me in Meereen. I do not take kindly to disobedience, Daario.”

Daario smiled. Jon’s eyes roamed his face for any sign of disingenuity but found none. “I want to serve you best, your grace. I serve you best at your side, fighting for you. I could not bear to leave, not when your battles were not yet won.”

“There are battles to fight in Meereen.”

“But not battles that will determine the course of a continent.” Dany observed, her eyes narrowed. “I would serve you here, my queen. I would fight by your side and help you to destroy Cersei Lannister and create a new Westeros.” Daario’s eyes flicked to Jon and then away.

“A new Westeros that will be ruled by my husband and I,” Dany said, gesturing at Jon. The thought made Jon swell up with pride. To be Dany’s wife was the greatest reward he could imagine. Seeing her smile was the joy of his every day.

“Of course,” Daario said, bowing his head at Jon, as though in respect. “I apologise for my hasty words, your grace. I plead to be allowed the chance for the Second Sons and I to storm King’s Landing with you and be part of the army that delivers Westeros back to its rightful queen.”

Dany inclined her head. “Very well. You may attack with the Unsullied.” The sound of a distant roar had Jon, Dany, Daario, and most of the army, looking above as the three dragons swooped and looped through the sky.

“Will your children be joining us in battle, your grace?” Daario asked. Dany regarded him coolly.

“They will not. I do not come in fire, Daario. I will not have my people hurt when there is another way.”

“You believe that your armies can defeat Cersei?”

Dany nodded. “I am the rightful queen of Westeros. Cersei’s paltry troops and Golden Company are of no comparison.” Daario inclined his head.

“Of course, my queen.”

XXX

Jaime and Arya rode their troops to meet Queen Daenerys and her new husband, King Jon. Brienne remained behind, with their babe growing in her belly, and Gendry was working with the troops, to ensure every soldier had a weapon. Since Jaime’s arrival, he and Arya had bickered and sniped at each other almost constantly, amusing Gendry greatly and irritating Brienne. But Jaime’s respect for the young Stark had only grown. Where Sansa was Catelyn and Jon was Ned, Arya was Robb, strong and powerful - and clever.

They had wanted to attack. Arya had campaigned for it, to every military commander as they arrived in the city. The Ironborn had agreed but every raven sent to Daenerys warned caution, asked them to wait for her. So they did. They waited, as the Golden Company arrived and entered the city, multiplying Cersei’s forces no end. There were still more on Daenerys’ side and it made more of a fair fight, in Jaime’s eyes, but he could see the anger flashing behind Arya’s eyes, every time they heard of an attack by the Golden Company, every time they heard of an act of small rebellion being put down with a mass execution.

Though Arya was of the North, Jaime could see that she considered herself one of the People’s Army that had done so well in fomenting dissent in King’s Landing. Whether that was out of loyalty with them particularly, or it had more to do with Robert’s bastard whom she was fucking, was a subject that Jaime truly enjoyed employing to make Arya go red and get angry. She was not so good at stinging him when she was angry.

Gendry also gave Jaime a wonderful opportunity to rip Brienne, because he looked just like Renly. She did not appreciate it whatsoever.

But he would continue, just as soon as they had put Daenerys on the throne and killed Cersei. The thought made Jaime’s stomach roil. Cersei dead, at the hands of an army that he was in part commanding. Briefly, he wondered what his father would think.

They found Jon and Daenerys looking regal and ready to fight. Daenerys herself would send them into the battle but she had no skill with a sword, only with her dragons. She would be on the outskirts, with her dragons, ready to ride in if things were going badly - or to ride in as victor.

“Targaryen, Stark and Lannister,” Daenerys said as they set their eyes on the gates. “Who would have believed it?”

There were troops within the city. The city watch was there, and the Golden Company, and the paltry troops of the Reach, Crownlands and Stormlands. Whoever Cersei could drag from their homes was here and fighting for her. Jaime wondered how long it would take for them to surrender.

He hoped not long. The last thing he wanted was for Cersei to have a drawn out death. She deserved to die peacefully. Jaime glanced away. Thinking of Cersei was not helpful. He pictured his wife, waiting anxiously for him, her hand on her sword, desperate to be here fighting. That steadied his stomach and had him itching for this to be over, to be with her and their babe.

XXX

Brienne looked up sharply as her tent ruffled, giving entrance to an average-sized woman with dark hair and eyes. From her clothing, she immediately identified her as an Ironborn and, from her statue, as their leader, Yara Greyjoy.

“Lady Brienne,” Yara said, meeting her eyes. Brienne stood. “I am shocked to find that a husband has turned you away from the battlefield.”

Brienne shook her head, a small smile at her lips. “A babe.”

Yara quirked a brow. “I see. Jaime Lannister would allow his wife to fight, then, if it were not for the babe?”

Brienne chuckled softly. “He would.”

Yara cocked her head. “I’m afraid I have bad news to deliver before we join her grace in the city.” Brienne furrowed her brow.

“The queen is -”

“Watching the city from atop her dragon.” Brienne swallowed, nodding. “I’m asking you because I know that you can get the message in.” Brienne’s eyes went wide. “I have spies on my uncle Euron in the city. The spies say that Daario Naharis is going to betray the dragon queen halfway through the battle, when the bells ring.”

Brienne covered her mouth with her lips. “Daenerys does not have her own spies to tell her this?” she asked, her mind racing. Getting the message in would mean going in herself. She would not trust the message to anybody else. Jaime would be furious, would be petrified. And he had enough to think of on this day of all days.

Yara met her eyes. “Are you sure you want to trust that she already knows when the Second Sons turn on your husband and his troops in battle?”

The thought had Brienne’s stomach turning over. She nodded hastily and Yara turned to leave. She paused at the exit. “I am sorry to ask this of you,” she said before ducking her head and leaving. Brienne pressed her hand to her stomach and sent a prayer to the Mother and the Warrior.

She scrawled a quick note to Jaime, hoping that he would never have to read it, and wiped her eyes before she left her tent, collected her horse and rode into the fray, searching for Jon or Daenerys, before it was too late.

XXX

Addam could lead Jaime’s troops as well as he could. Better, even, on today of all days. Today, Jaime had to put his family first. He would get back to Brienne and their baby, but, first, he had to kill Cersei himself, to protect her from the worst of it.

He would not sit by and watch them burn her or torture her or hang her. She had to die at his sword, quickly. He would not let her die publicly.

The Red Keep was easy to access. As soon as the soldiers saw it was him, they admitted him. He wasn’t sure if Cersei had made that order, if she had made sure that they would admit him, or if the soldiers were too scared of her possible wrath to do otherwise. Either way, Jaime would take advantage of it and enter her presence, so that he could finish this for good.

He was escorted to the King’s chambers. Unsurprised that his sister had chosen to take over Robert’s chambers, Jaime glanced at the guards at her door. Neither were the Mountain, which meant that he was inside. Jaime swallowed, glancing at his wrist. Had he made a terrible mistake? How would he get back to Brienne if he was dead? She would never do this to him, never put herself in harm's way, not even for the greater good.

Cersei turned away from the window and smirked at the sight of him. The Mountain was, in fact, standing next to her. Jaime met Cersei’s eyes. “Hello, sister.”

Cersei strode towards him. “Jaime. You dare to come to me? Are you here to surrender?”

“Surrender to what, Cersei? Your slaughtered City Watch? Your sellswords?”

Cersei’s face flushed red in her anger. “My own army marches against me. You stole the Lannister troops from me.”

Jaime shook his head, chuckling. “The Lannister troops belong to me, Cersei. Nobody can lead them but me.”

“What about your wife?” she challenged. “Did you think I hadn’t heard that that was why you’d run up north?”

“I went up north to save Brienne’s life. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“They put me in prison,” she told him, “made me walk the streets of King’s Landing naked and I did it all alone.” Jaime flinched. “But none of that matters now, Jaime. I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, no matter how much that little dragon queen wants to play. Bow to me and I will spare you, and your wife, in the aftermath.”

Jaime shook his head. Her confidence didn’t shock him. She never believed that anybody could be cleverer than her. “I’m not here to bow to you, Cersei.”

Cersei’s eyes dropped to his sword. “You carry our son’s sword at your waist.”

Jaime inclined his head. “Yes.”

“You dishonour his memory.”

“Joffrey dishonoured his own memory.” Cersei spat at his feet. Jaime grimaced. “Cersei, I’m here to ask you to surrender. Your troops are overcome. Surrender and I will take you away, save you from this. Keep you safe.”

Cersei chuckled. “You always were the stupidest of us. You truly believe that I would allow a fight if I thought I was going to lose?” Jaime blinked, not entirely sure whether she was so stupid - or whether she had something up her sleeve. Her smirk grew. “Now you understand. You can die knowing that your wife fighting down there will die, screaming and in flames.”

Jaime felt everything click into place. Why divert from a once good plan? Cersei had flames beneath the city, ready to blow up her troops alongside Daenerys’. She didn’t need to be queen of many as long as she was queen.

Pulling his sword from his waist, he swung as skilfully as he could at the Mountain as he approached. It hit his stomach but the Mountain did not even flinch. Jaime swallowed. If he could only kill Cersei - if he could only kill Cersei then his child would know that he was a good man.

His mind whirred. If Brienne found his body here, what would she think? Would she think that he had come to kill Cersei - or to save her? He supposed that he’d come to do both. Brienne would understand, if Cersei were dead and his sword was still inside her. Flinching at the approaching giant, Jaime ignored him and spun around to attack Cersei.

His sword plunged into her stomach, even as her eyes went wide with fury at the Mountain’s failure. Blood plumed at her stomach. Jaime closed his eyes against watching her die, against the upcoming blow of the Mountain against his head.

Nothing came.

Jaime opened his eyes. Sound rushed into his ears. Cersei was lying on the floor, his sword in her stomach. Her breath was shuttering. Behind him, the Mountain’s body was stumbling backwards; his head already rolled along the floor. And behind the enormous, decapitated body were Gendry Waters and Arya Stark.

XXX

The bells were ringing. Dany cocked her head as she looked down into the city. Bells. What did bells means? No part of her plan had involved bells. Nobody had even mentioned the bells ringing to her. She directed Drogon towards the square that she had allocated herself for landing and held him up until the screaming soldiers beneath had moved.

She dismounted and patted Drogon a few times before pulling out the sword that she didn’t know how to use and stepping into the alleyway. Immediately, she found herself surrounded by soldiers, protecting her against the Golden Company who would kill her and have this over with. Dany knew that it would not finish with her. Jon would take the reins if she died.

A commander found her swiftly, his eyes wide with confusion. “Your grace,” he said urgently. “It’s not safe for you here. The Second Sons have turned against us - you must go, now.”

Dany blinked. The Second Sons. Letting Daario fight with them had seemed like a kindness, to have his name in the history books. But Dany would not let this into the history books. This was a betrayal, plain and simple. Fury welled in her stomach but she allowed the commander to walk with her back to Drogon and she remounted him.

“Fight well, ser,” she said, bowing her head at the Lannister commander. He bowed his head back at her. Dany swallowed as she and Drogon flew high once again. They had come into this battle feeling so confident. Was it possible that they would lose, when the odds were so fiercely for them?

XXX

Jon looked up to the heavens as he felt something shift in his chest. Victory. It was victory. They had won. Dany swooped in the air. He had heard from a commander that she had come down to ground when the bells had rung, had discovered Daario Naharis’ betrayal herself. Jon sighed, glancing up as he felt the hand tap at his shoulder. He shared a smile with a Lannister soldier.

“The injured are in the market hall, your grace.” Jon swallowed. He wasn’t entirely sure that he would ever grow used to being ‘your grace’. He followed the soldier to the market hall, to see how deep the costs had been. The Second Sons had been a costly error, Jon was sure. Before their army recovered from the shock of being turned on by those whom they thought were their own, they had lost many men at the hands of the sellswords.

The injured were lined up in the market hall, not only soldiers but citizens of King’s Landing too. Jon felt his heart in his throat at the thought of the destruction that they had brought to the city. He hoped that the people would see that he and Dany only wanted good things for them, to rule them fairly.

He wondered briefly whether Arya and Gendry had managed to get inside the Red Keep and kill Cersei. That was what they had planned. Otherwise, she would be found and put on trial. It would be simpler for the beginning of their new state if she were already dead.

Jon looked up as quiet fell in the room. He found Dany walking towards him, her countenance antsy. “Is it true?” she asked as she reached him. He took her hands in his and brought them to his mouth.

“Yes. You are Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” Jon said it loudly so that the whole room heard. Dany smiled and moved her hand to cup his cheek.

“And you are its king.” Jon bent slightly to kiss her and she bit her lip as she pulled away, then her brow furrowed.

Jon heard it only seconds later. The bells were ringing, again, as they had when the Second Sons had turned their swords upon their army. He met Dany’s curious eyes.


	23. Chapter 23

Brienne sighed as she leaned back against a broken building. She’d been too late. She’d not even reached the bulk of the fighting by the time the bells had rung and the Second Sons had turned on Daenerys’ army, on Jaime’s troops. Since, she had been trying to fight her way out of the city.

The fighting had spread, the longer the battle went on. The Ironborn joining had increased the amount of people in the city; the Second Sons’ betrayal had pinned some of Daenerys’ army back to the walls. Brienne had had to join more fights than she had wanted to. She’d wanted to get in and out, swift as an urchin messenger.

It was enough that she had failed in her mission to warn Jon and Daenerys. She could not fail her baby and Jaime too.

Jaime could not lose both Brienne and Cersei today.

Brienne forced herself to fight on, to cut her way through the weary Golden Company sellswords, the angry city watch. She wanted to scream at them, to have them surrender and flee so that they could save themselves.

As she thought it, it seemed to happen. First one soldier put down his sword and then another and then everyone who fought for Cersei was surrendering. Brienne looked up. She’d been keeping her head down. The last thing she needed was for anyone to recognise her as Jaime Lannister’s wife, not when Cersei was possibly still alive in the Red Keep, looking for a win.

Brienne knew that Cersei would love to kill her, even if Cersei herself was about to die.

Brienne swallowed and followed the rush of soldiers. She heard the calls to go to the Market Hall, for all injured people to go to the Market Hall. She bit her lip and wondered whether she would find Jaime there or if he was in the streets like her. He would be alive. He would not be dead. She would feel his death in her chest. She knew that she would.

The crowd outside the Market Hall was huge, full of soldiers holding other soldiers up. Some were holding citizens, children, women. Brienne swallowed her fear. She would know if Jaime were in there. Somebody would have said that Jaime Lannister was injured. If anybody had seen him, she would have heard it in the whispers.

Brienne glanced to the sky as she heard the tinkling of bells, for the second time that day.

XXX

They found Euron on Cersei’s throne. Both of their swords were wet with the blood of Cersei loyalists but this was the last target that Arya and Gendry had entered the castle for. They had left Jaime beside his sister. Arya had patted his shoulder as she’d left. She’d actually managed to feel sorry for him as she had watched him stare at her broken body.

They’d left then, ensuring that Jaime had his sword in hand, just in case anyone were to come and discover their dead queen, but they thought it unlikely. In a castle where the queen was protected by a monster, no other would think to - or want to - protect her.

Heading to the throne room, they had dispatched a few more soldiers, especially those that they found with white cloaks, and then found Euron, waiting for them with a smirk on his face.

“I’m ready to die,” he chuckled, holding out his hands. Arya narrowed her eyes. Euron had a dagger at his waist.

“You surrender?” Gendry demanded, thrusting his sword at Euron in a pressing gesture.

“I surrender,” Euron said, nodding his head thoughtfully. “I’ve fucked a queen and seen my niece’s soldiers slaughtered by the Second Sons. Of course, I would have liked to have seen her die but it will only be a matter of time now that the Iron Islands are in a woman’s hands. They will fall and I will not be here to see it.”

Arya stepped forward. Euron met her eyes. “Little wolf,” he cooed. “Your father would arrest me, of course, but you won’t. You hardly knew your father.” That was a lie and Arya knew it. And perhaps her father arresting him was a lie too. Arya had been a girl and not invited to her father’s judgements, as Bran had been.

Inching further forward, Arya looked up as the bells began to ring. They had already rung once, when the Second Sons - who should never have been allowed in the city - had betrayed them, and now they were ringing again. Arya and Gendry had not made any plans for the bells, so the plans belonged to Cersei, and her cronies.

Euron’s smirk widened. “Do you have loved ones down there?” he asked with a hissing voice. “I’d start praying. They’re about to explode.” Euron reached instinctively for his dagger but he was too slow, as Arya slit his throat with Needle, and Euron Greyjoy died, sitting on the Iron Throne.

XXX

Sansa groaned as she slid down off her horse. Her whole body was aching. Tyrion was worse. “You should go and rest, my love,” she told him quietly. “Find Jaime’s tent, or Daenerys’. I will go and inform them of the plans.” It was testament to how much pain Tyrion was in that he agreed and limped away from her. Sansa watched him go with a pang in her heart.

She found some of Daenerys’ men, on guard, and asked for the news. “Victory, my lady,” one said. “The queen is within the city. She landed with the dragon.”

“And the market hall? Has there been any- event?”

Another soldier shook his head. “No, my lady, not since the Second Sons betrayed us.” Sansa furrowed her brow but there wasn’t time to understand what any of that meant. 

“I have to find a commander,” she said urgently. “Has anyone left the city yet?” All three soldiers shook their head. Sansa nodded slowly. “Okay. I have to go inside. You will come with me?”

And, just then, the bells began to ring. Sansa turned slowly towards the city walls. She saw Tyrion leave a tent that she hadn’t known he’d entered - and, then, and then, with a brain-rattling boom and a blinding sudden flash of green, the market hall exploded.

Soldiers, citizens and even dragons screamed.

They were too late.

XXX

Jaime bent at his sister’s side. He was uncomfortable, had been uncomfortable since he’d sunk to his knees beside her, after she’d taken that last, startling, shuddering breath and died, right in front of him. Arya and Gendry had left. He thought that one of them might have touched his shoulder, briefly, but he wasn’t sure which.

His sister was dead. She had been dead to him, the Cersei he knew had been dead to him, for years. But seeing her body was a different matter. She still looked so perfect. The splatter of blood on her face seemed unearthly, like it could be rouge or sauce. He closed his eyes briefly. He had loved her for so much of his life.

Allowing himself to fall backwards so that he sat more comfortably, his knees tucked under his chin, he sighed. “Cersei,” he murmured. “Sweet sister, what did you do?”

He had done it, of course. He had been the one to kill her but he could still blame her. She had wanted too much, had been too ambitious and too deadly in her power. And, most of all, she had never been as clever as their father. She had never been clever enough to spin webs like he did, to rule like he did, but she’d not known it. And that was what had killed her in the end. Her baseless arrogance.

Jaime exhaled slowly. It seemed terrible to think badly of her, but, for the rest of his life, he would hear badly of her. She would be a villain to history, forever now, possibly alongside their father, certainly alongside their son.

Oh, Brienne would not speak badly of her but the rest of the world would. Every time Jaime spoke to anybody, they would see Cersei in the back of their minds, all the evil things she did, had him do. He felt sick momentarily and then threw that feeling away.

He wasn’t alone anymore. He had Brienne and he would feel safe with her forever. Jaime smiled, leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his sister’s forehead.

Then he jumped up and went to find his wife. It was time they went home. Bells started to ring outside the keep.

XXX

The soldiers, and Tyrion, accompanied Sansa into the city, over an hour after the first blast. There had been smaller blasts, over and over, as the wildfire spread but, after no blasts for a while, Sansa had demanded that they ride into the city and find their family and friends, none of whom had yet to exit, despite the huge amount of soldiers who had.

Other uninjured soldiers rode in behind them, to save as many as they could from the flames. While they did so, Sansa’s eyes scanned every street and alley for Arya, for Jon, for Daenerys, for Brienne, for Jaime. She could see Tyrion’s panic beginning to grow. They heard the cries of Cersei’s death and, while Sansa privately celebrated, she saw Tyrion’s grief hit him like a wave.

The next few months would be difficult for them, especially if they found Jaime among the dead.

The words on the fleeing soldiers’ tongues were the market hall, the market hall, the market hall, so they made their way there, as much as Tyrion was warning them that it was unsafe, as that was where the main blast had hit. 

Bran had sent them here for a reason. If he could see the future, he could see that they weren’t going to make it here in time. What did that mean, then? What else was there for Sansa and Tyrion to do? Was it to discover Jaime’s body? Or- the thought of either of her siblings being dead made bile climb up Sansa’s throat.

The Market Hall was partly in flames but entirely destroyed. All four walls had collapsed. There were people screeching, on fire, or with missing limbs all around. Sansa dispatched the soldiers to find them and escort them outside of the city, but she already knew that most of them would die. There were simply not enough maesters.

As Sansa got down from her horse, she heard somebody shout, “No!” and Sansa looked up. An older woman was looking at her, standing in the ruins of the Market Hall, on the side that was not still aflame. Sansa stepped closer. The woman put out her hand but Sansa’s heart was burning.

She carried on walking forward, and forward, until she got close and saw two men lifting a large portion of the wall off two bodies.

She was screaming before she had consciously identified them as Jon and Daenerys.

XXX

“Have you seen Lady Brienne?” Jaime pleaded with another commander as he passed through another part of the camp, on the way to the part that Jaime had left her. He knew his wife. There was no way that she would have stayed in her tent when she could have been talking about the victory with the soldiers.

And, yet, he had found no sign of her so far. Fighting through the city, while it was aflame, had nearly sent Jaime into panic. He’d found himself at one point, crouching in an alleyway, not entirely certain of how he had got there, replaying over and over that awful night where he had become kingslayer. It had taken the memory of that bath with Brienne to pull him out of it, taken the fact that she was out there, waiting and worrying for him.

He approached the camp, the tent where he had left Brienne earlier, with trepidation. There were soldiers here but he saw no sign of Brienne. Even before he entered the tent, he knew that he would not find her there.

What he did find was a note, written in large letters to make it easier for him. She was good that way.

My love, she wrote. I have to deliver a message. There is no one else I trust to do this.

There were lots of crossings out before she had written, You have made me so happy.

And that was it. Jaime’s heart sank into his chest. His fist closed around the note. He felt tears well in his eyes. Brienne was inside the burning city. He stepped out of the tent. The city was still smoking.

Shaking his head, he found himself a horse and headed inside. Once, he had scoured this city for allomancers. Now, he would do it for his wife.

XXX

The steps of the Red Keep were deceptively uncomfortable. They were also very warm, because of the fire that was spreading within the centre of the city. It was wildfire and would die out naturally, after causing its destruction, but there was no way to fight it. Water did not work. There was nothing they could do now.

Arya leaned her head on Gendry’s shoulder. He placed his hand on her hip and she smiled, shuffling closer to him. She would hate for anybody to see her right now but everybody had left the Red Keep. In fact, most people had left the city, at the sight of the flames. Arya and Gendry would leave too, soon, once they had some energy.

“So, what now?” Arya asked, looking up into Gendry’s eyes.

Gendry shook his head. “I never imagined an end.”

“It’s not the end. It’s the beginning.”

“That’s a bit soft, that, Arya,” Gendry commented and Arya scowled at him. Gendry tightened his grip on her waist. “What do you want to do now?”

Arya shrugged. “I don’t know. Apparently Bran is at Winterfell. I’d like to see him.”

Gendry bobbed his head. “Then we’ll head to Winterfell.”

“We?” Arya questioned.

Gendry chuckled. “You really think I’d leave you again? It’s you and me now, Arya.” He cleared his throat. “In fact, I wondered if you might want to make that permanent.” Arya blinked. Gendry clucked his tongue. “I mean, marry me, if you want.”

He sounded like he was trying to be overly casual and Arya loved him for it. She rolled her eyes. “Alright. Let’s do it.” She felt Gendry grin as he leaned his head against hers.

“Perfect. At Winterfell, then?”

Arya shrugged. “Or before.”

“Very eager,” Gendry said appreciatively. Arya elbowed him in the side. They both looked up at the sound of a throat clearing. The soldier looked grave. “What is it?” Gendry demanded.

“You ought to come with me, my lady, my lord.”

XXX

Jaime was like a storm as he searched the city. He moved quickly and ravaged every street, every alleyway, for Brienne. She couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t possibly be dead. He couldn’t possibly lose her, not now, not when they were free to do as they pleased. He wanted to take her back to Tarth, wanted to go to Casterly Rock and see his babe born. He blinked back tears. He couldn’t tell her father, couldn’t tell Podrick that she was dead.

“I think she went to the market hall,” a soldier said as Jaime demanded whether he knew anything about Brienne. Jaime froze and the soldier left, apologetically. The market hall. It was where the first blast had been, where the fire was still blazing.

Even so, he headed there. If she was dead - and she wasn’t: Jaime would have felt it - he had to know. He had to know for certain and then he would - he would go to Winterfell, to Tyrion, and - 

Jaime found the market hall. He found Tyrion there, in front of him, holding his wife, who was bent double and sobbing. Tyrion met his eyes and then glanced to his side, where two broken bodies lay. Jaime covered his mouth. Was it possible that Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen were dead? He shook his head. It couldn’t be. Jaime wondered whether Arya knew yet, whether she had seen these bodies.

Jaime turned on the spot. He couldn’t watch, or hear, Sansa sob any longer. It was too painful. There would be much sobbing over the next few days, he knew. Because of Cersei. Because, even after everything she had done, she had found a way to ruin people’s lives, just one more time. She had robbed the realm of a good king and queen.

“Jaime,” a quiet, rasping voice broke into his thoughts. Jaime’s heart knew who it was before his head. His eyes found her, a cut on her cheek but safe, a slash on her leg but alive. His heart raced.

“Brienne,” he let out a sob and then she was in his arms, so in his arms. He felt complete again. He felt like he was himself again. Everything made sense again. He sobbed into her neck. “You were gone. I thought you were-”

“I know, my love,” she murmured, stroking his hair. “I know.”

“I killed her - I killed her-”

“It’s okay,” she promised him. “It’s okay.”

Jaime wasn’t sure how long they stayed there for, in each other’s arms, but it was at least until they heard the gasp and sob of a newcomer and then the small cry as Arya Stark fell to her knees before her brother. Sansa broke away from her husband to wrap her arms around her sister and they cried together.

Jaime pulled away from Brienne and crouched down to accept his brother’s embrace. He pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Cersei is dead,” Tyrion said. Jaime nodded, once, twice jerkily.

“My hand,” he told him. Tyrion met his eyes and Jaime let out another sob. Tyrion was soon crying too and Jaime felt as though maybe they could put House Lannister back together. They had made the right decisions, after all, had changed their priorities for the good of others. Maybe these tears would heal, in the end.


End file.
